


A Boy from Nowhere

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: DCU - Comicverse, Green Lantern Corps (Comic)
Genre: Guy/Kyle, HSAU, M/M, discussion of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-24
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guy, Kyle, high school AU, and angst.  Oh, my, angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for discussion of child abuse and injuries related therein. Nothing super-graphic, but it might make you wince if you're sensitive to the subject.

"Art fag, three o'clock."

Guy follows Tommy's eye line and spots the kid, dark hair, dark eyes, paint spattered on the front of his striped T-shirt. "Rayner," Guy supplies. "He's in gym with me."

"Bet he runs like a girl," Tommy scoffs, flailing his arms back and forth. He picks up his empty milk carton, crumples it into a ball, and flings it towards the back of Rayner's head. It misses and lands in Rayner's pudding, and Tommy bursts out laughing, the rest of the table joining him.

Guy's the only one who sees Kyle glance over his shoulder, and his stomach twists when Kyle looks him in the eyes for just a second before turning around.

"I think the fag's got a crush!" Tommy crows, and he slaps Guy on the back. "Your milkshake bring all the gays to the yard?"

"Shaddup," Guy says, shoving at Tommy a little harder than necessary. Tommy narrows his eyes at him for a moment, then punches Guy in the shoulder.

"Chill, dude; I'm just fucking with you."

Guy finishes his lunch in silence. He can't bring himself to eat his pudding.

*

Gym is seventh period, and they're in a basketball rotation, Coach Kilowog choosing captains by pulling names from a hat. "Gardner," he barks, and Guy steps onto the free throw line with the other three captains.

In the third round of picks, Guy points at Kyle. "Rayner," he says, and Kyle looks stunned as he steps behind Guy with his other two teammates. After final picks—Guy taking on a guy with hunched shoulders whose name he can never remember—Coach reminds them of half-court rules and settles on the first row of the bleachers to watch them play.

"Play nice, kiddies," Guy snarks, and he catches a grin on the edge of Kyle's mouth as they bounce the ball into play. Ten minutes later, Guy turns just in time to see one of the guys on the other team put an elbow into Kyle's ribs. "Foul!" he yells as Kyle stumbles to the left.

"I slipped," the guy says, crossing his arms.

"And your elbow landed right in his ribs. Convenient," Guy snaps.

"What do you care?" the guys asks. "He's just—"

"Just what?" Coach Kilowog asks as he looms over the kid. "Kyle," his voice is kind, but his eyes are hard on the offender, "you okay?"

"Fine." Kyle coughs once, rubs a hand over his ribs. "I'm okay."

"You can take five—"

"No." Kyle says, flat. "I'm all right."

Guy watches Kyle straighten up, watches him set his face, and something about it seems familiar. Guy can't figure out what it is before the game is back in play. Ten minutes later, when another guy tries to trip Kyle up, Guy recognizes the look. It's his look when he's trying not to punch back at his father.

Five minutes later, one of the guys who has been trying to knock Kyle over suddenly ends up with Guy's elbow in his nose. "Oh, shit!" Guy yelps. "Coach! Coach! I think I broke his nose!" He pokes at the nose as the kid tries to keep blood from pouring through his fingers, and the kid winces away.

Coach Kilowog gives Guy a quick, hard look before barking for the kid to go to the nurse and sending Kyle's first attacker with him. "Gardner," Coach orders, "you and Rayner get off my court before one of you kills someone."

Guy wants to argue. He had totally elbowed the guy by accident. Really. And Kyle hadn't been trying to hurt anyone. Those guys had been trying to—

"Gardner! Move!" Coach hollers, pointing to the locker room.

"Yes, Coach," Guy mutters, and he jogs towards the locker room. Kyle's already at his locker, shirt half off. Guy's palms itch, and he rubs them on his shorts. "Hey," he mumbles as he walks around Kyle, his hip brushing Kyle's arm.

"Hey," Kyle replies and doesn't look over when Guy opens his locker. "Thanks," Kyle asks after another minute. "I know it wasn't an accident."

"What?" Guy asks, gruff, as he pulls his sweaty shirt over his head. "Those guys whaling on you?"

"You breaking that guy's nose," Kyle tells him. "It was a pretty good fake-out."

"Yeah," Guy agrees. He turns his back to pull off his shorts and pull on his jeans. When he turns back around, Kyle is staring into his locker, face red. "Get a good look?" He asks; it comes out meaner than he intended.

"I wasn't…" Kyle glances over his shoulder, looks into his locker again. "It's not—"

"Are you?" Guy asks, and the question surprises him. He blinks a few times and waits for Kyle to say something. Kyle keeps staring into his locker. "A fag?" Kyle flinches, and Guy shifts from foot to foot. "That's not—"

"Yes," Kyle whispers, the word echoing into his locker. He slams his locker door, hard enough to make the lockers on either side rattle. "I'm gay," he says, and he looks at Guy, eyes sharp, jaw set. "And you're not the only one who knows how to break some asshole's nose with your elbow."

Guy takes three steps, stopping just inside Kyle's personal space. "Why don't you?" he asks. "Break someone's nose?"

"What would it solve?" Kyle asks. "I break one guy's nose, and three other guys will jump me to defend the hetero."

"Yeah." Guy places a hand on the locker next to Kyle's, tries to lean casually and feels like an idiot. "If you need help…"

"Not getting whaled on by 'phobes? Not getting milk cartons flung at my head by your fucktard friends?"

"Tommy's not my friend." It comes out in a rush. Guy breathes in hard, feels his fingers tremble on the locker. "He's just…"

"An asshole," Kyle says. "Who you hang out with. And eat lunch with. And laugh with when he calls me names."

Guy takes another step forward, curls a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "I don't…"

Kyle glances at Guy's hand. Shrugs it off. "You sit there. You let him say shit. You let him throw things at me. Say you're not a 'phobe if you want. You're still—"

"I'm not a homophobe," Guy says, voice hard. "I'm not." He presses Kyle against his locker. "I just…I can't…"

Kyle doesn't shrink away; he doesn't shove Guy away from him. He stares Guy in the eyes and touches Guy's waist. "You can't what?" he asks as he curls his fingers through one of Guy's belt loops.

"I can't be…" Guy can't look away from Kyle, the determination on his face. He leans in, just a little, his nose brushing Kyle's. "My dad hits me," he whispers. "For anything. He knocks the shit out of me. Tells me I'm a fucking failure. I can't be…" He breathes in, and he smells Kyle's sweat. "I can't be gay. I can't." It comes out a little broken, Guy's voice going up on the second sentence.

"You could be bi," Kyle replies, serious. "Maybe you are. Maybe you just think—"

"I know who I am," Guy interrupts. "I know what's…I'm gay."

Kyle kisses him, lips pressed hard against Guy's, nose bumping Guy's cheek. Guy tilts his head, presses a hand to Kyle's jaw, opens his mouth just a little and sighs when Kyle presses his tongue to his lips.

Guy pulls away first, the reality of what they're doing—and where—slamming through his head like a shotgun blast. He stumbles backwards a step, nearly falls over the bench that runs between the rows of lockers. Kyle sags against his locker, the hand that had been on Guy's waist still hanging in the air, as if Guy's going to step right back into place. Guy opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

Kyle turns around, opens his locker, takes out his backpack, and slides it over his shoulder. "Think Coach will let us head out before the bell?"

Guy blinks. He swallows. He wipes a hand across his mouth. "What?" he asks. He pulls at his shirt, runs a hand through his hair, bites his lip. "You just—"

"Yeah, I know," Kyle tells him. "You going to suddenly un-closet yourself and tell Tommy to fuck himself?"

"No." Guy clenches his hands. "I mean—"

"You mean what you said," Kyle interrupts. He looks at Guy straight on, and Guy sees, for just an instant, absolute loneliness in Kyle's face. "I'll see you around," Kyle says, and he walks up the stairs and out of the locker room.

Guy sits on the bench, shudders, closes his eyes and tries to think. He could go after Kyle, he thinks. Try to explain himself. Try to explain what it's like to go home and get kicked around because his dad is bored or drunk or just feeling mean. He could tell Kyle that he hangs with Tommy because he's afraid what he'll do if he hangs out with people who need protecting. That breaking that kid's nose is the least of what he's capable of if someone looks like they're about to come to harm. That kissing Kyle is something he's been thinking about since the rumors about Kyle started going around a year ago.

Guy sits on the bench. Thinks about what he could say. He sits on the bench.


	2. Chapter 2

Guy spends three days trying not to think about it. On the first day, Kyle tries to catch his eye in gym class as Coach Kilowog explains the volleyball rules, but Guy doesn't meet his eye. On the second day, Kyle passes Guy a note in the hallway. It's a rough, cartoonish sketch of Guy with huge eyes, his mouth hanging open. Underneath it is printed, "Chicken." Guy crumples it up but doesn't throw it away. He shoves it into the bottom of his backpack.

On the third day, Tommy hands him a milk carton and points to Kyle's turned back.

"You'd think the fag would learn," he laughs, and Guy wants to shove the milk carton down his throat.

"Maybe he thinks you're not lame ass enough to keep throwing shit at him," Guy retorts, and Tommy's face goes red.

"Something you want to tell us, Gardner?" Tommy hisses. "You been hanging out with the fag?"

"Yeah," Guy says and jumps at his own admission. "Yeah," he repeats, because to back down now that he's said it would give Tommy ammunition. "And he's not a bad guy."

"He's a _fag_ ," Tommy spats out.

So am I, Guy thinks, and it bounces around in his head for a few seconds. "So what?" Guy asks. "What's the matter, Tommy? Afraid you'd like it if the fag asked your name?"

Tommy's swinging before Guy can draw breath, but Guy manages to dodge, sliding backwards in his chair as Tommy jumps up to grab him. Guy drops his shoulder, rams it into Tommy's stomach, and runs him backwards until he bounces off the wall. Tommy swings again, his fist glancing off the side of Guy's head. Guy bounces him off the wall again, reaches out to grab his jacket and swing him around, but there's suddenly a giant hand on his shoulder pulling him away. Guy snarls and rolls away, coming up on his feet, hands up to defend himself.

"GARDNER!" It's Coach Kilowog. He's looming over Guy, one massive hand keeping Tommy against the wall, the other held out, palm up to Guy. There's a look in his eyes, somewhere between pissed off and concerned. "Gardner, sound off," Coach orders.

"I'm here," Guy snipes. "I'm fine." Except he's not. He can feel blood oozing down his temple, and he's still seeing flashes of red on the edge of his vision. He wants to jump around Coach Kilowog, throw Tommy on the floor, whale on him until he's bleeding in at least three places.

"Tommy," Coach says, voice quiet but dangerous, "get to the principal's office. Tell Mr. Salaak I sent you, and tell him what you did."

"What about—"

"Go." Coach matches the word with a sharp glare, and Tommy hurries away as soon as Coach lifts his hand from his chest. "Gardner," Coach says, and his tone is matter-of-fact but not dangerous anymore. "You're with me. Let's go."

Guy falls into step behind him without thinking. Coach leads him into the gym, empty because it's lunchtime. He points to the bleachers, and Guy sits, hands between his knees, head down. He watches Coach Kilowog's feet as he paces back and forth.

"Explain it to me."

Guy looks up, lifts a hand to swipe at the blood still leaking out of his temple. "He hit me," he says.

"Not with the first swing." Coach pauses in his pacing, walks over to Guy, grabs his chin to tilt his head. Guy flinches without thinking. "Easy, kid," Coach soothes. "Just checking the damage."

"I'm fine."

Coach doesn't answer, just eyes the cut on Guy's head. "Must have gotten you with his class ring."

"I guess," Guy mutters. He waits for Coach to step back, but Coach stays put, crosses his arms, looks down at Guy, waiting. "What?"

"You and Tommy have been hanging out since you joined football your freshman year. Wanna tell me why you're suddenly knocking each other around?"

"No reason."

"Out with it."

Guy meets Coach's look, narrows his eyes when Coach doesn't look away. "He's a dick," Guy tells him. "I just got tired of his shit."

"Hmmm." Coach leans back, rests his elbows on the riser behind him. "So, this has nothing to do with Tommy's ongoing homophobia, then?"

It's weird, Guy thinks, to hear Coach Kilowog say things like 'ongoing homophobia.' He looks exactly like every other thick-necked jock Guy's ever seen on the field or during his father's never-ending football watching. It's not that he hasn't heard Coach use big words; it's that he can't separate what he knows of thick-necked jocks from Coach sometimes. He opens his mouth to tell Coach that it's got nothing to do with Tommy being a homophobe. "Yeah," he says instead. "Mostly."

"You attack like you did, and it looks pretty personal."

I'm gay, Guy thinks. "I talked to that Kyle guy a little," he says. "Tommy's always making fun of him, and he did it again today and it just…" He looks down at his hands again, notices that a knuckle on his left hand is split open. He doesn't remember punching Tommy.

"You got him in the ribs," Coach says, looking at the same spot on Guy's hand. "Right after you rushed him into the wall."

"Oh," Guy mutters. He glances at Coach from the corner of his eye. "Do I…" He doesn't know how to ask what he needs to know. Does he rage out on a regular basis? Is he dangerous to be around? Is there something wrong with him? "My dad hits me." It comes out in a rush, like he's breathing out to lift weights, and after he says it, he can't look up. Can't bring himself to see the look on Coach's face.

"I've known," Coach says after a moment. "I know what football injuries look like." He doesn't say anything else, but Guy gets the message. Football injuries don't look like abuse injuries.

"Don't you have to tell someone?" Guy asks. "Because I told you? Don't you have to report it or something?"

"I'll have to tell Principal Ganeth," Coach admits. "And he'll have to inform the authorities."

"Shit." Guy drops his head, covers it with his hands. "If anyone shows up to check on me, he's just going to hit me more once they're gone."

"You could leave."

"I can't." Guy presses his palms against his eyes. "My mom…"

"You've got an older brother, right? Could you two stay with him?"

"Wouldn't stop the old bastard from coming after us. Mace…" Guy shakes his head. "He knows about it, but it never happened to him, so he doesn't see it the same. He thinks Dad just gets…confused or something." Guy looks at Coach Kilowog, looks away. "Why the fuck am I telling you any of this?"

"I don't know," Coach replies. "Maybe because you needed to. You say it out loud, it means you have to deal with it."

"I don't want…" Guy looks away again. The bell shrills, and he jumps. "I've got—"

"I can give you a pass," Coach offers.

"No. I need to…" Guy stands up, paces, feels Coach watching him. "I'm…" He shakes his head, turns on his heel. "There's something…"

Coach narrows his eyes, shifts in his seat so he's leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "What else is going on?" he asks, and he sounds sincerely concerned. "What's so bad that talking about your dad is better than it?"

I'm gay, Guy thinks again, and he shakes his head to get rid of the thought. "Nothing," he says. "Nothing," he repeats.

Coach narrows his eyes. "Bullshit," he says, voice firm. "I've known you awhile, Gardner. Something's going on."

I kissed Kyle, Guy thinks, and it's the first time he's purposely thought about it since it happened. "My dad's a dick," he tells Coach. "He's always been a dick, and he'll always be a dick, and he's always going to whale on me whether I tell anyone or not, and…"

"And?" Coach prompts.

"And nothing." Guy slams shut the part of his mind that's thinking about Kyle, shoves it into a mental box and shoves it into a mental corner. "My dad's a dick. I punch guys who make me mad. That's it."

Coach Kilowog narrows his eyes. "You sure?"

Before Guy can answer, a group of students walk in, the fifth period gym class. "I'm gonna be late for history," Guy mutters.

"I'll give you a note for Mr. Jordan," Coach says as he pulls his hall pass pad from his shirt pocket. He makes out the slip, holds it out to Guy, keeps a grip on it when Guy grabs it. "You sure nothing else is going on, Gardner?"

"Yes," Guy hisses. He tugs at the slip, tugs again when Coach doesn't let go. "See you at practice later," he says, and he has to take a step backwards to steady himself when Coach suddenly lets go of the slip.

"Five minutes after the bell, or you're running sprints."

"Yes, Coach," Guy agrees, and he hurries away, feeling Coach watching him all the way to the door.  



	3. Chapter 3

Seventh period comes too fast for Guy. He tries to come up with reasons to stay behind in his other classes, but he can't stand Mr. Jordan for the fifty minutes he usually has to deal with him, and he can't think of any legitimate reason to stay behind after sixth-period Chemistry with Ms. Brik. He drags his feet to the gym, but Coach only gives him a cursory glance as he walks to the locker room.

The locker room is noisy, the other guys talking and arguing and horsing around. Guy grabs Isamot by the collar as he goes after Vath for their weekly brawl. "Knock it off," Guy snaps.

"Get off me!" Isamot yells, trying to shake off Guy.

Guy holds him tighter, catches the grateful look from Vath and feels nervous suddenly. He shoves it aside. "What's up with this shit?" he demands and doesn’t realize he's shouting until he sees Isamot flinch. "Why the fuck are you two always after one another?"

"I'm not!" Vath yelps. "I'm trying to stay cool, and he keeps—"

"He stole my fucking girlfriend!" Isamot yells. "Walked up and stole her!"

"A year ago!" Vath responds. "Let it go, man! Fuck! I broke up with her a month ago!"

"Jesus Christ," Guy mutters. "All this shit is over some chick?" Isamot twists in his grip, trying to lay a punch on him. Guy shakes him by the collar. "Dude, she fucking left you. Get over it." He lets go of Isamot with a shove, sends him sprawling to the floor. "Seriously."

The rest of the guys stare at him as Guy opens his locker. He glances over his shoulder, then slams his locker door against the next locker in line to make everyone jump and look away. The locker room empties out as everyone starts to filter up to the gym floor. Guy changes clothes slowly, trying to pull himself back in, wondering what made him grab at Isamot today instead of yesterday. He's ignored it all this time, but there's something about today that's making him do stupid things. Making him do halfway decent things. Making him deal with shit.

"Hey."

Guy looks up from tying his sneakers. Kyle's standing next to him, hands shoved into the pockets of his track pants. Guy thinks about kissing him. "What?" he snaps instead.

"We're playing basketball again," Kyle says like Guy hasn't tried to scare him off. "Can I still be on your team, or are you going to 'phobe out on me?"

"I'm not a 'phobe."

"Right. You're one of the tribe." Kyle matches his sarcasm by throwing off a limp-wristed salute. "As long as you're in a locker room alone with the other queer in school."

"I didn't throw the milk carton at you today," Guy argues. "Tommy took a swing at me because I said I was hanging out with you."

"Neat. We'll get you a medal."

"That's not—"

"If someone asks," Kyle interrupts, "what's your excuse for beating the crap out of that asshole? Because you were defending me and my gayness, or because you're like me?"

Guy opens his mouth and finds he doesn't know how to answer the question. He stares at his sneakers and listens to Kyle shift his weight. "I'm not…I can't…"

"Yeah," Kyle interjects. "Sure." He turns on his heel. "Coach is gonna start yelling if we don't get upstairs."

Guy stays on the bench and listens to Kyle jog up the stairs, listens to the locker room door swing shut. He could just admit it, he thinks. Announce it and get it over it. But.

The locker room door bangs open. "Gardner! Get your butt up here and get on the line for count off!"

"Coming, Coach," Guy mutters, and he pushes himself up, makes himself walk up the stairs, past Coach Kilowog standing in the doorway.

"You and Rayner all right?" Coach asks in an undertone before Guy can start jogging across the floor.

"Sure," Guy replies, and he can feel Coach watching him as he toes up next to Vath.

"Hey," Vath whispers as Coach reminds everyone about the basketball rules. "Thanks for pulling Isamot away. I think he might stop trying to brain me."

"Whatever," Guy mutters. "He's a dumbass."

The period is a blur. Kyle's a team captain, and Guy spends five minutes feeling weirdly left out until Kyle picks him as his fourth choice. Kyle doesn’t say much to him, but he passes Guy the ball and blocks so he can get a shot and yelps in victory when Guy sinks a two-pointer just as Coach yells time.

"Nice," Kyle says and slaps him on the back.

Guy flinches away, squints at Kyle. He wants to ask what his deal is, why he was such an ass in the locker room but so friendly on the floor. He doesn't get a chance to ask. Kyle gets back into his street clothes and out of the locker room in under two minutes. Guy's tempted to follow him, but when he comes up the stairs, Coach Kilowog is there, arms crossed.

"Practice in five, Gardner," he says, voice mild. "Unless you've got other plans."

He's tempted to say that he does, in fact, have plans. Opens his mouth to tell Coach to fuck off and leave him alone, but something catches in his throat, and all he can do is swallow and nod, throw his bag over his shoulder and jog over to the football field.

"Fag lover," Tommy mutters when Guy walks into the field house. Tommy's stripped to the waist, already in his pants and pads, and there's a livid purple bruise on his left side, just above the arch of his lower rib cage.

I did that, Guy thinks. I hit him there. His mouth tastes like metal, and he bends over the water fountain to get a drink, one eye still on Tommy, not trusting the other boy to leave him alone with his back turned.

Tommy says nothing else, just throws on a ratty t-shirt and heads to the field. He's probably been warned, Guy realizes. Coach probably threatened him with even more laps if he acts up.

"Gardner," Coach greets when Guy walks up the sidelines. "You're benched today."

"…the hell?!" Guy shouts. "What'd I do?"

"You hit a teammate."

"That stupid son of a bit—"

"No swearing on my field, Gardner. You know the rules."

Guy glares at him. Coach meets it with an even look. "He took a swing at me first. Because I wouldn't harass a gay guy."

"You still swung back, Gardner. Bench. Now." Coach turns and points a finger at Tommy. "Any smug preening out of you, and you're benched for the next two games. Clear?"

Tommy grits his teeth and rocks back on his heels. "Yes, Coach."

"Get to stretching, boys," Coach says to the crowd at large. He sits on the bench next to Guy as the team starts to line up. "It's school policy, Gardner. Anyone takes a swing at anyone, there have to be repercussions."

Guy doesn't answer. He watches the team stretch, listens to Coach scrawl a few things on his clipboard.

"Were it up to me," Coach continues, "I wouldn't be punishing you. Trying to punch someone as a reactionary answer to attitude is bad. Trying to punch someone because they tried to punch you first is just a proper response to a threat."

Guy works his jaw, clenches his hands into fists. "So?" he finally asks. "What's your point? Am I supposed to be happy because you don't really want to punish me?"

"I want you to know I'm not against you," Coach replies, tone even.

"Did you tell Principal Ganeth about my dad?"

Coach Kilowog stands up, grabs the net bag full of footballs and tosses it to Tommy. "Catching practice first, then we're going to run tackle drills." He sits on the bench again, watches the team start to throw the balls back and forth. "Yes," he says finally, out of the corner of his mouth. "I told you I had to."

Guy stares at the ground, drags his spikes through the dirt and makes tiny furrows. "What'll happen?"

"Principal Ganeth will call Department of Family Services, and someone will probably be sent to your house to check up on things." Coach erases something on his clipboard, writes over the same space. "You play a hard game, Gardner. Even a trained social worker is going to have trouble telling your play bruises from your home bruises." He looks up, raises an eyebrow at Guy. "But I'm sure you're in football for the fun of it."

"Mace played football," Guy hears himself say. He feels detached, like he's ten feet away and eavesdropping. "Dad never slugged Mace. He yelled sometimes, called him some names, but he never hit him. Never…" He breathes in. "He's going to whale on me after someone comes."

"Any place you can hide out?" Coach asks. "Anyone who'll let you stay over who your dad doesn't know?"

"He'll knock me around when I get home."

"I don't know how this all works," Coach tells him. "I don't know who sets up things to get kids out of homes like yours, but I can find out. I can get you an idea of what you're in for."

Guy thinks about that for a moment. "They'll take me away, won't they? From him?"

"If you're honest."

"What about my mom?"

Coach stands up again, walks to the sideline, watches the team throw the balls back and forth. "Spread out!" he hollers. "Let me see some actual yardage between you!" He turns, sits back down. "Maybe," he says to Guy, "Maybe if you're somewhere safe, she'll walk away from him. I don't know, but it's possible."

"I can't leave her there. He'll do worse to her than he's ever done to me. He'll take it all out on her."

"I'll make some calls after practice," Coach says. "Can you wait after?"

"I'll tell him we ran late, that you wanted me to practice my passing."

"Need a note?"

"No. He'll believe me if it's about football."

Coach nods. "All right." He whistles and points downfield to the tackling dummies. The team jogs towards them and starts pulling them forward. "I've got to jump on the other side of those and yell at them," he tells Guy. "Stay put."

"Yeah, Coach," Guy replies. Stay somewhere, he thinks. But where? He usually stayed at Tommy's when his dad's worse than usual, but Tommy's out now, Guy figures.

"Gardner," Coach calls, "round up the practice balls, take them back to the field house."

Guy pulls a face but stands before Coach can threaten him with another day on the bench. He runs through the list of people he knows as he gathers the scattered footballs. The longer he thinks about it, the less options he finds. It's tempting to call in the favor Vath owes him for breaking up the fight, but they barely know one another. No one else who hangs out with Tommy will give him the time of day. Guy pulls the drawstring on the bag, turns to drag it to the field house, and he notices someone on the back row of the bleachers. He squints against the sun. Kid with dark hair, a green shirt, and some huge square thing in his lap.

"Son of a bitch," Guy breathes out. It's Kyle. The square thing is a sketchpad; Guy's sure of it. Guy stares up at him for a few seconds, and Kyle meets his eyes, gives a little wave. Guy's stomach twists, and he points himself towards the field house.

When he walks back out, Coach has the guys running line sprints. Guy sits back on the bench, feels the weird curl of awareness on the back of his neck that means Kyle's staring at him. He doesn't look backwards.


	4. Chapter 4

Guy wakes up, light shining right in his eyes. He turns his head to get away, and there's a sharp pain right behind his eyes, like when his dad hits him with the side of his fist just right on his temple.

"Hold still."

Guy doesn't recognize the voice. He tries to turn towards it, and there's nothing there for a moment before he's opening his eyes again. This time the light isn't right in his face, and he's able to blink away most of the headache.

"You awake?"

It's Mace's voice, but it can't be, Guy thinks. Why would Mace be next to his bed? Mace is in his field of vision before Guy can turn his head. Guy tries to open his mouth and finds he can't.

"Your jaw's wired shut," Mace tells him. He's wearing his policeman's uniform, and Guy wonders how he got it so wrinkled. Mace has always been a total dork about keeping himself neat. Mace reaches around Guy, out of Guy's line of sight, and he pulls his arm back with a small cup in his hand. Something cold dribbles into Guy's mouth. "Ice chips," Mace explains. "You've been out for three days. You had brain swelling."

Guy tries to hiss between his teeth, make some sort of noise. He tries to push himself up, and his arms catch on something, make him fall back against the pillow. The headache he's pushed back slams itself forward, bounces around the front of his skull. Guy squeezes his eyes shut against the pain.

"Easy," Mace mutters. "Hold on." There's a shuffle and a click, then Mace's hand on his shoulder. "They had to put restraints on you. You kept trying to get up and go check on Mom."

Guy's eyes fly open against his will. The overhead light in the room makes him yelp in pain, the sound reverberates through his jaw, making tears slide down his face.

"You in pain?" Mace asks. He curses. "Don't try to answer that. It'll probably just make it worse."

Guy watches him fumble with a tube that and press a button attached to it. Pain killer drip, he realizes, but he doesn't know how he knows it.

"Mom's at my place. Dad's…" Mace shakes his head. "Dad's in the county jail." He breathes out hard. "Why the hell you didn't call me before, I don't know." He looks Guy in the eyes, shakes his head. "Don't answer that."

A nurse bustles in wearing bright pink scrubs. "You rang?" she asked, and she looks at Mace when she says it.

"He's awake," Mace tells her. It makes Guy angry, but he doesn’t know why. He shakes his wrists and makes the restraints rattle. Mace throws a look over his shoulder. "Can you undo him?" he asks the nurse, but he doesn't stop watching Guy.

"Let me check a few things." The nurse walks around the bed, looks at the machines, checks Guy's chart, presses her dry, warm fingers against the pulse point on his neck. "All right," she agrees, and she undoes the restraint on his left wrist while Mace undoes the one on his right. "Don't try to talk just yet," she says, and her eyes are kind when she looks into Guy's. "Your jaw's set just fine, but it'll be a couple more days before you can talk comfortably."

Guy nods and winces.

"Just try not to move for awhile," the nurse says, and Guy catches something sad in her face before she turns away. "I'll go get the doctor," she says as she walks out.

Mace pulls a chair over, sits down, reaches into the top pocket of his shirt and pulls out a notepad and pencil. "Here." He pulls the bed table over and sets the pad on it. Guy lifts his hand, lets Mace fit the pencil between his fingers.

 **Mom?**

"She's all right. Dad started beating the shit out of you, and she tried to stop him, and he flung her off hard enough to bounce off the living room wall. She crawled into the bedroom and called me." Mace leans forward, hands linked together and his forearms pressed against the bed rail. "What do you remember, Guy?"

Guy thinks about it, and he gets the sharp pain behind his left eye again. There's something there, though, just under the surface. He can feel it trying to worm its way out.

"Easy," Mace murmurs, and he presses his hand against Guy's forehead. His hand is cool, but damp.

No, Guy realizes, Mace's hand is cool and dry. He's the one who's damp. Why is he damp? Something slides down his face, and Guy flinches when Mace wipes it away. Is he crying?

 **Crying?**

"Yeah, you are." Mace shakes his head. "I won't tell."

Guy suddenly feels ten again, sharing a room with Mace, listening to their dad scream at their mom through the bedroom door. Mace swearing he won't tell anyone that Guy cries at night.

 **Dad beats me.**

"Jesus," Mace mutters, and he presses his face into his hands. "Yeah. I know."

 **Before?**

Guy has to poke Mace in the arm to get him to drop his hands and look at what Guy's written. There's a long moment of silence. Mace stares at the floor.

"Kind of. Yeah. I…" Mace looks up from the floor, looks into Guy's eyes, looks away. "They teach you about the cycle of violence in psych classes for criminal justice," he says. "They teach you about how violent offenders can escalate from arguing to yelling to…" Mace trails off, looks Guy up and down, shakes his head again. "I never thought…I should have, but I didn't. I couldn't…"

 **Why?**

"Why couldn't I think it?"

Guy shakes his head, careful of the pain still behind his eyes. He tries to find the right words.

 **Why here?**

"Why are you here?"

 **Yes.**

"Dad beat you into brain damage." Mace's face strips of all color. "Someone called social services, and a guy went to the house, and after the guy left, Dad started hitting you."

Guy tries to remember it, but there's nothing there. He remembers going to school, talking in the locker room with Kyle, going to practice. Coach promising to call the social services office.

 **Don't remember.**

"Not surprising. You've basically got an epic concussion."

 **Mom's okay?**

There's something on Mace's face that reminds Guy of grief. "Yeah. She's fine. Really. She's got a bruise on her arm where she hit the wall, but she's completely fine. Okay?" Mace waits for Guy to nod. "Okay. And Dad's in jail, and he's not getting bail, and he's going to get brought up on charges, okay?" Mace waits for another nod. "All right. Anything else?"

Guy stares at the pad of paper, glances at Mace, writes the next two words with deliberate slowness so the letters won't be wobbly.

 **I'm gay.**

"Jesus fucking Christ." Mace grips Guy's arm as Guy tries to scramble to the other side of the bed. "Chill," he orders. "That wasn't—I'm not disgusted. It's just…I've barely slept in three days, you asshole. You couldn't wait a night for this one?"

Guy's tempted to write "fuck you" or point to his jaw, or make some hand signal that will translate to "brain damaged from a beating and terrified, thanks," but all he can do is lean back into the pillows and let go of the pen.

"Hey," Mace says, quiet like he used to do to get Guy's attention in the weird silence after their dad passed out. "I'm really not freaked out about it. So what. You're still my brother, all right?"

Guy grips his hand rather than nod. His head is pounding. He closes his eyes. He swears, just before he falls asleep, that he feels Mace kiss him on the forehead, but it's probably just some weird hallucination from the head trauma.


	5. Chapter 5

When he wakes up again, his mom is sitting in the chair by the bed. She's reading a book, something with bright-colored letters on the front. Guy squints, trying to read it, and it makes his head hurt. He hisses, and his mom looks up. She smiles and stands, walks over and smoothes his hair from his forehead.

"How do you feel?" she whispers, and she puts a pencil in his hand and a pad of paper on his bed table.

 **Head hurts.**

"It's because of the injury," she says, still whispering. She presses the back of her hand to his cheek. Her fingers are cool, and Guy leans towards them. "Oh, honey," she murmurs, and then she's looking away, but Guy knows what it sounds like when she pretends not to cry.

 **I'm okay.**

He pokes her arm to make her look, and when she does, she cries outright, sagging against the bed. She murmurs words Guy can't quite make out, and he tries to write something else, but his fingers are shaking, and the pencil falls from his fingers.

"I've got it," his mother says, and she kneels down, grabs the pencil, puts it back in his hand. "It's okay, honey. It's going to be okay."

She doesn't sound any more convinced than any other time she's said it, any other time she's pulled Guy up from the floor and bandaged his cuts, dabbed the blood from his lip with a wet washcloth, helped him keep his feet from tripping him up as she's pulled him towards his bedroom. Guy sees red suddenly, anger flaring through him like its replaced the blood in his veins.

 **Could have left.**

He regrets it as soon as she sees it, her face blanching. "I wish I could have," she whispers, and she backs away from the bed. "I wish…"

 **I'm sorry.**

She shakes her head. "No, honey. Don't ever be sorry. It's not you, and it's not anything you did. I wish…" She shakes her head and touches his arm, squeezes just below the elbow. Guy sees the bruises on her arm, just above her elbow, where his dad must have grabbed her and thrown her across the room.

 **What happened?**

"You need to rest," she tells him. "We don't have to talk about that now."

Guy pokes at the question with his pencil. "Please," he manages through his wired jaw. It hurts, but not as much as the last time he tried to talk. "What happened?"

She deflates, draping across the bed rail in a sudden looseness that makes Guy think he's made her faint from exhaustion. "All right," she says before Guy can find the button for the nurse. "Okay."

"Don't have to," Guy gets out.

She looks at him, holds his face between her palms so softly that Guy can barely feel it. "Oh, Guy." She kisses the top of his head and pulls the chair next to the bed, holds his hand. "A man showed up when you were at football practice. He said he was from social services. He said he'd gotten a call, and when he'd looked up your name, he saw that other people had called, so he came to the house to talk with us."

Guy closes his eyes and tries to remember. He can see practice, can hear Coach telling him he's benched. Can practically feel Kyle staring down at him from the stands. He can't remember Coach calling social services. He can't remember getting home. The last thing in his memory is Kyle coming down the bleachers, sketchpad under one arm.

"You came home," his mother continues, and her voice wavers. "You walked in the door, and you stopped when you saw your father at the table with that man. You just…stopped." She looks away and wipes her eyes. "You answered the social worker's questions, and he left."

The silence slides forward, and Guy doesn't know how to break it. If it were his dad, he thinks, he'd smart off and take the hit. But getting punched or kicked or thrown into a wall isn't the same as this. Isn't the same as finding a way to ask his mother exactly how many times he was hit. They don't talk about it. They've never talked about it. They've taken their individual bruises and gone to their individual rooms and met in the kitchen for meals.

Anger spikes down low in Guy's belly. He curls his hand into a fist, pulls it out of his mother's grasp. He tries to speak, but there's pain radiating in his jaw, in his head, down his whole body. He can feel every bruise he got in the fight, he thinks. Can trace his father's path from long experience. The back first, to knock him down, the heel of his foot to a hip, the one-handed grab of his shirt, dragging him to his feet, throwing him against a wall. The crowding into his face, and the punch to the shoulder, the knee to the thigh.

"You should have left," he grits out in his full voice. The screaming pain through his jaw is worth it. He fumbles, finds the button for the pain killers, and clicks it until it beeps at him to tell him no more. "You should have just left." He turns away as his mother starts sobbing outright. She reaches for him again, and he flinches away.

"Honey," she murmurs. "Guy. Sweetheart."

Go to hell, he thinks but can't say. Go away like you always did.

"Where would I have gone?" she asks. "If we'd gone to Mace, he'd have just followed, and I had no money of my own. Your father's had me sign over my paycheck to him for twenty-five years. It was…It made sense at the time. I couldn't…" She hiccups and goes silent for a long, heavy moment. "I thought he was going to kill you," she whispers. "I called Mace because I thought your father was going to beat you to death."

Guy squeezes his eyes shut. He will not cry. When his mother reaches for his hand, he uncurls his fist. When she touches his hair, he does not flinch. What about you? he wants to ask. Why didn't you leave before? But the way she holds his hand tells him why. The way she smoothes the blanket on him and offers to get him some juice. Because she couldn't be certain he would be safe, he knows. She stayed because sometimes she could draw him away, time her interference like Guy timed his comments, distract his father from hitting him one more time by making him angry in another way. Making him turn away.

She never went away, he thinks. She hid away so he wouldn't see and blame himself. So he wouldn't chalk up her bruises to one more bad thing that was his fault. Guy turns his head and watches her stroke his hand. "Mom," he says, and the drugs are settling in so it doesn't hurt to say it. "I'm glad you called Mace."

"Thank you," she whispers, and new tears slide down her face.

"Mom."

She presses a hand to his shoulder. "You need to rest. We shouldn't have—"

"I'm gay."

Her hand stays pressed to her shoulder. Her eyes soften. "I thought maybe," she tells him. "Your father might have been kinder if you'd brought home a girl once in a while, so I thought…maybe."

"Does he—"

"He suspected you were. That's all he ever needed, the suspicion." She takes her hand off his shoulder, straightens the neckline of his hospital gown. "And even if he hadn't, he'd have found another reason to do what he did."

It's reassuring in a way that makes Guy's stomach twist. A consummate bastard, his dad. An all-around hateful, bitter man. "I met…" Guy trails off as the drugs hit in a wave. He closes his eyes to blink and discovers he can't open them again.

"Tell me later," his mother's voice instructs. "After you nap."

"Yeah…" Guy replies. "Okay."


	6. Chapter 6

Guy spends the rest of the day in a painkiller haze, not quite certain when he wakes up and when he's dreaming. He has vague, fuzzy images of his mother and Mace by his bedside. Sometimes they're alone and sometimes there is a man in a tie and glasses. Guy tries to focus on his face, but it makes his head hurt, so he falls back asleep.

When he wakes up properly, there's a nurse checking his pulse, and the man in the tie and glasses is sitting in a chair next to a man in a black sweater. The man in the tie and glasses smiles at him. "Hello, Guy. I'm Clark. Do you remember me?"

Guy squints at him. His head doesn’t hurt when he does it, but something hot and angry rushes through him, something sharp like when he accidentally cut open his thumb with a steak knife. "No," he says, and draws it out while he tries to place the feeling. His jaw doesn't hurt at all, he realizes. "Should I know you?" It comes out sharper than he means, and Guy catches the nurse raising an eyebrow at his attitude. He tries to shift away from her, but her fingers stay on his pulse point.

"Be out of your way in a minute," the nurse tells him, giving him a smile. "I'm required to check your vitals."

"Then why am I hooked up to all this crap?"

"Because it double-checks me." The nurse lets go of Guy's wrist and picks up his chart, looking over the machines and taking notes. "It's good to hear you talking," she tells him. "It means your jaw is starting to heal."

Guy doesn't reply. He looks away from her, but doing that makes him look at Clark and the other man. The anger rush up again, and he stares at the ceiling until the nurse leaves the room.

Clark and the other man move their chairs closer to the bed, but Guy doesn't look. "Your mother and brother wanted to be here when you woke up, but they both had to get back to work," Clark tells him. Guy continues to stare at the ceiling. "They asked me and Dr. Saarek to stay with you."

Guy looks over at that, avoiding looking at Clark and concentrating on the man sitting next to him. The anger rush fades slightly. Guy wonders what it means. "Doctor?" he asks.

"I'm a psychologist," Dr. Saarek tells him. He has light brown skin and a bald head. "I work with people who have been in abusive situations like yours."

"Okay," Guy replies, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He looks at Clark again. "Who are you?" It comes out suspicious.

"I'm…" Clark trails off, adjusts his glasses. When he looks Guy in the eyes, he looks embarrassed. "I'm your case worker, Guy."

Guy blinks at him a few times. Some piece of information scratches at the back of his mind. Something his mother said. "You were at the house," Guy says, "when I got home from practice."

"Yes," Clark tells him. "I came to speak to you about your father."

"Because Coach called you."

"Social services received numerous calls," Clark informs him. "It just took awhile to get someone to your house."

That information makes Guy pause. He tries to take in a deep breath, but it's hard to breathe in around the wires in his mouth. He heart starts to hammer. "Why?" he snaps.

Clark looks embarrassed again. He scratches under his chin. "Because sometimes we slip up." He reaches out like he's going to touch Guy, but he curls his hand around the bedrail instead. "I'm sorry, Guy." He sounds like he means it. "I'm sorry it took so long to get someone to check on you, and I'm sorry I was part of the reason you're here right now."

Guy doesn't know what to say. Clark smiles at him, and Guy wants to punch him in the mouth. There's something about him that's so clean, so perfect, and Guy's willing to bet he doesn't come from a background of world-class assholes. "You're the only reason I'm here," he hisses. "If you hadn't shown up, my fucking jaw wouldn't be broken." He wants Clark to reel back, look shocked. Clark just blinks. "Fuck you."

"I'll leave you to talk with Dr. Saarek," Clark says like he's not ruffled. It makes Guy's shoulder blades itch. The urge to punch rises higher. "I'll be back in a little while."

He's out the door so fast Guy doesn't have time to yell something at his back. He glares at the closed door, then at Dr. Sarrek, who sits in his chair, hands in his lap, and looks like he's not affected at all. "Go away," Guy orders. "Fuck off."

Dr. Sarrek reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a digital recorder. He holds it up so Guy can see it clearly. "I'm actually required to talk to you at least this once." He, like Clark, sounds completely unaffected. Guy wants to punch him, too. "You want to record me?" Guy asks.

"If you wouldn't mind. I like to be able to review sessions, and I'm a terrible note-taker."

"I don't want to talk to you."

Dr. Sarrek sets the digital recorder on the bed table. "It will only take a few minutes, and it's mandatory. I have to be able to tell my superiors that you're in a safe place mentally."

"Why?"

"Because other people in your situation have killed themselves." Dr. Sarrek says it as a fact, the way Mr. Jordan rattles off dates in History class. The anger in Guy drops away and is replaced by something cold, something numbing.

"I'm not a fucking suicide," Guy says. He tries to sound mad, but it comes out too soft. "I'm not some asshole."

"I didn't think you were." Dr. Sarrek smiles at Guy, and it makes his blood spike again. "But I need a little more information."

"Why?"

"Because they require it."

"This is stupid."

"I'll be quick."

Guy wants to tell him to go away, to fuck off and die. He watches Dr. Sarrek press a button on the digital recorder.

"Are you suicidal, Guy?"

"I already told you I'm not." Guy snaps. "I don't want to fucking kill myself. I just don't want you asking me stupid questions."

"Bear with me a few more minutes, and I won't," Dr. Sarrek promises. He waits for Guy to roll his eyes in agreement. "Wonderful."

"Whatever," Guy grumbles.

Dr. Sarrek leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his stomach. "How old are you, Guy?"

"Sixteen."

"What do you do for fun?"

"Play football."

"Football's a good game."

Guy forces himself not to roll his eyes again. "Yeah."

"How long has your dad been hitting you?"

Guy can't breathe for a second. No one's ever asked him that question. People have hinted, and people have looked at him, but no one's just asked. "I dunno," he answers, looking away, the anger making his hands shake. It's not his business, he thinks. It's nobody's business. "A while."

"Do you remember a time when he didn't hit you?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"It's not your business."

Dr. Sarrek is quiet for a moment. "I need certain information before I can leave you alone," he says. "I'm required to get some basic facts down for your file."

Guy tries to grit his teeth, and it makes his jaw ache. He curses under his breath. Dr. Sarrek watches him, face blank. Guy wants to spit in his face. "Before Mace moved out."

"When did Mace move out?"

Guy counts back in his head, trying to calm down as he does it. "Five years ago."

"So you were eleven, then?"

"Yeah. I guess. Whatever."

Dr. Sarrek nods. "Okay." He smoothes a hand down his sweater. Guy wants to throw the recorder against the wall, jump out of bed, grab the doctor by his sweater, and toss him after it. "How long has he hit your mom?"

"When Mace left," Guy answers, the numbness coming back like he's being covered with a blanket. He wonder if it's the drugs. "He never hit anyone until Mace left." Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and Guy blinks them back, looks away from Dr. Sarrek.

"Do you get along with Mace?"

Guy shrugs. "I dunno. I guess." The numbness gets deeper, and Guy wants to fall into it and fall back asleep for awhile.

Dr. Sarrek doesn't say anything, and when Guy faces him again, he's picking up the digital recorder and hitting a button again. "You seem tired," Dr. Sarrek says. "We can pick this up later."

Guy starts to agree with him, but there's suddenly something clawing at his stomach, deep down, and he reaches for the recorder. "No. I want...He's an asshole, and he hits me, and he hits Mom, and he never hit Mace because Mace was always fucking perfect, and I wish he was dead." The words reverberate through Guy's head, through his healing jaw, and he realizes he's tried to yell the last part. He sags back onto the pillow, the numbness clashing against the anger, and Guy wishes he knew what the hell was going on.

Dr. Sarrek watches him for a moment. "Who do you wish were dead?"

"My dad." Guy spits out. "Who else would I want dead?"

"What about Mace?"

Guy shakes his head, so hard it causes pain at the base of his skull. "No."

"You're not mad at him for leaving you there?"

"Not his fault. Dad wasn't whaling on us when he was home. He didn't know. Not really." Guy hears himself say it, but he feels far away, like he's listening from the other room.

"Not really?"

"He said he took some classes or something. Learned about the cycle of violence."

Dr. Sarrek nods. "So, he knew about what could happen, but he didn't know it had happened?"

Guy thinks about it for a minute. "I don’t know. He says he didn't know."

"And you believe him?"

When he was younger, Guy remembers, Mace used to hide him in the bedroom closet when their dad got extra loud. He'd cover Guy in a blanket and give him a pillow and tell him to shut up. "Maybe," Guy says. "Maybe he just didn't want to bother."

"Why wouldn't he want to bother?"

"Who wants to bother with this shit?" Guy spits out. "I don't like bothering with this shit."

Dr. Sarrek crosses his hands over his stomach again. He cocks his head at Guy. "You're a very astute young man, Guy."

Guy blinks at him. Confused at the sudden change. "Huh?"

"You're smart. You're sharp."

Guy shrugs. "Okay."

"It's good," Dr. Sarrek assures him. "But it might cause you some problems."

"Pretty used to that." It's out before he can hold it in, and Guy has to fight not to cringe. He doesn't need sympathy. He doesn't need a therapist. He wants to go home. He wants to be left alone. He was fine before.

Dr. Sarrek breaks a smile. "I suppose so." The door to Guy's room opens, and Clark walks in, giving a hopeful look to Dr. Sarrek and Guy.

"Am I interrupting?"

"I think we're finished," Dr. Sarrek says. "Unless you'd like to say more, Guy."

"No."

"I'll see you again," Dr. Sarrek promises, and he waves goodbye as he walks out of the room, stopping to shake hands with Clark and murmur something that Guy suspects is his theory on what's going on. Guy wants to growl or shout or call them names, but his energy is gone, and the anger is down to a simmer, settled behind the pain at the base of his skull.

Clark takes his seat next to Guy's bed and grabs the bed rail again. "I called your mother while you talked with Dr. Sarrek. She wants you to know that she'll be here after work."

"Okay,"

"School's out for the day," Clark tells him. "Can I call a friend to keep you company? Someone to talk to?"

"Who are you?" Guy snaps. "Why do you give a shit?"

Clark blinks. He takes off his glasses and cleans them on his tie, puts them back on. "I was adopted when I was a toddler," he says and leans on the bed rail more fully. "I think I was two. My parents aren't sure because they found me in the barn, and there wasn't a note."

Guy waits for more. "So?" he asks when Clark doesn't say anything.

"I have really good parents," Clark tells him. "Really excellent parents, and I got them by accident. I want to help other kids get their parents on purpose."

Guy stares at him. "You are not for real."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, the poor little beaten-up kids," Guy mocks. "We all need a fucking rescuer to swoop down and save us."

Clark works his jaw back and forth. "No," he says, voice quiet and determined like Coach getting ready to bark orders. "I'm here to help you rescue yourself."

"I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"Guy—"

"I already talked to the guy who thinks I'm crazy. I don't want to talk to you."

Clark presses his lips together and stands up. He smoothes his tie and puts his hands on his hips. "All right," he says. He buttons his jacket. "I'll let you get some rest."

"Fine." Guy turns away until he hears Clark walk out again. He doesn't sleep, although he tries. His stomach is in a knot, his hands are still shaking, and even hitting the button for the painkillers doesn't relieve the low burn and ache at the back of his head.


	7. Chapter 7

His mother walks in a quarter after six. Guy's poking his straw in the remains of his protein shake. When she reaches up to stroke his hair, he pulls away. "Leave me alone," he mutters.

"You're talking," his mother smiles as she says it. "That's a good sign."

"Whatever." Guy sucks down the last of the shake, puts it aside, and finally looks at his mother. She's still in her uniform from the factory—beige pants, beige shirt, white sneakers—and she's clutching her purse in her hands like it's the only thing keeping her in place. He feels bad in a different way than he already does, angry at himself for making her upset. "I'm feeling a little better," he says, and she relaxes back against her chair, sets her purse on the floor.

"Good. I'm so glad." She touches his arm, and Guy allows it. "The social worker came by," he tells her. "He brought a therapist."

"Dr. Sarrek?" His mother smiles when Guy looks confused. "I'm speaking with him, too. It's part of…" She tugs at her uniform shirt for a moment. "It's part of everything we're doing now."

"Why?"

"It's…it's kind of a test. They want to see that you and I are dealing with what's happened to us."

Guy thinks about that for a minute. "They want to know if they have to take me away," he says.

His mother is quiet for a few seconds. "Yes," she says, almost in a whisper. "That's part of it."

"They don't trust you."

She's silent again. "No. They don't."

"You never touched me!" It tries to be a yell, and Guy gets a full body shiver from the ache of attempting it. "You never hurt me," he says more quietly. "You never—"

"It's good that they're asking," his mother interrupts. "It's a show of concern."

"You called Mace. You tried to pull Dad off of me."

"It's not just about that night, Guy. It's everything before, and they want to know how we're going to handle it now."

"They?"

"The people at family services."

"I don't like them," Guy tells her. "My social worker is…" He can't come up with an appropriate word. "I think he's in it to feel good about himself," he finally says. "I think he's doing it to feel important."

His mother breathes out in a heavy whoosh of air. She leans towards the bed, clasps both of her hands over Guy's hand. "Some people are just good people," she says, slow and deliberate. "Some people just want to help."

"He freaks me out," Guys admits.

"You've had…When I married your father, he was a very sweet man. He brought me flowers from the side of the road, and he was so excited when I got pregnant. He wanted a family. He was a good man, once. I know it's hard to see that, and I don't expect you believe it, but he was a good person."

Guy digests that while he watches his mother stare at her hands holding his. "What happened?"

"I don't know."

Guy breathes in, ready to ask if it was him. Ready to ask what he did that caused such a change, because he knows it wasn't Mace. Mace was always the favorite. Before he can say anything, there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," his mother calls, and she straightens up, obviously expecting a doctor.

Coach Kilowog walks in, pausing a few steps from the door to take in the scene. He nods to Guy's mom. "Mrs. Gardner."

"Mr. Kilowog," she returns, her voice level. It reminds Guy of the way she'd talk to his father after he'd had a few beers.

"I heard a rumor that Guy was feeling up to visitors. I can come back if now's not a good time."

Guy doesn't say anything. He's watching his mother, the way she sits entirely still. He knows the posture. It's his mother weighing her options between saying something and getting yelled at or staying silent and possibly getting hit. Coach won't lay a finger on her, Guy knows, but he doesn't know how to tell her that without embarrassing her.

"Hey, Coach," Guy says instead. He tries to smile, to show his mother it's okay. "Think I'm out for the season."

"I'll put you to work; don't you worry." Coach sits in the extra chair. He reaches up to the bed rail. "Need this for any reason?"

"I dunno."

"Do you mind, ma'am?"

Guy's mother blinks. "Pardon?"

"The bed rail, do you mind if I put it down?"

"Oh. I…that's…I hadn't thought about it." She looks at the bed rail for a long moment. "It can come down. That's fine."

There's a rattle, then a clank, and Coach gives a satisfied grunt when the bed rail drops. He pulls up the extra chair, positioning himself near Guy's feet and facing Guy's mother. "How's the head?"

"Doesn't hurt right now."

"The jaw?"

"It's okay."

"Rest of your face looks pretty bad."

Guy doesn't know what to say to that. He looks at his mother. She's blanching, the color fading from her cheeks. "It does?" he asks. He watches his mother glare at Coach. Coach doesn't seem to notice.

"Suppose they haven't let you out of bed to check a mirror."

"There's not one in the bathroom," Guy explains. He looks at his mother. "Is it bad?"

"I didn't want you to see it," she tells him. "I didn't…"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Gardner," Coach says, sincere. "I didn't mean to—"

"No," she interrupts him, her tone sharp. "No. I just didn't want…" She shakes her head and stands up. "I'll be right back." She walks out of the room and down the hall.

Guy stares at the door. He stares at Coach. "What—"

"You look like someone took a bat to your face, kid. Can't blame her for not letting you see it." Coach leans back in his chair, crosses his arms. "Can't remember ever seeing you with face damage before. Must have ticked off your dad pretty good."

"Yeah," Guy mutters. "I don't remember it. I've got brain damage."

Coach breathes out hard. "That's what I heard."

"How?"

"Your brother stopped by the school to talk to Principal Salaak. Principal called me in so I could get the news, too. I'm down a first-string player since you're out for the season."

"Did you call social services after practice that day?"

"Don't remember that, either?"

"No."

"I called them. They didn't want to tell me anything at first, but I got them to tell me that they'd sent someone to your house."

"What happened after that?"

Coach considers the question for a moment, working his jaw back and forth. "What do you think happened?" He asks.

"I think I went home and got the shit kicked out of me."

"Language."

Guy almost laughs at the absurdity of it. He's stuck in a hospital with a wired jaw and a scrambled brain, and Coach is getting onto him about his language. "Sorry, Coach," he mumbles instead.

"Not that I can't appreciate your apt assessment of the situation, but my team managers don't get to swear, either."

"Manager?"

"You're off the field due to injury. I can still put you to work if you want."

"Yeah," Guy says. "I can do that."

Coach grins. "Thought so." He uncrosses his arms, puts his hands behind his head. "After I got off the phone, I told you to lay low."

"I remember you telling me that before you called."

"I did, but we talked about it again. You said you had to go home. You wanted to make sure your mom was okay."

Guy doesn't know what to say. He went home to rescue his mom? He'd never tried to rescue his mom. He'd just tried to stay out of the way. "I don't remember that."

"Damned noble of you," Coach tells him. "I tried to talk you out of it, but you said that you figured a social worker showing up would work your dad up worse than usual, and you thought he might do something really bad to her."

"Did I?"

"You did."

Guy tries to digest that, tries to picture himself running out to save his mom. "Did I do anything else?"

"Saw you talking to Rayner by the bleachers when you left. Couldn't hear most of it, but I did hear you yell at him."

Guy winces at that. "What'd I say?"

"I'm not repeating your exact words, but you told him to leave you alone."

Guy doesn't have to ask which words aren't getting repeated. He's yelled that a few people, and it's always come out as, "Leave me the fuck alone, asshole." He looks down at the bed, pulls at the sheet that's over his legs. "Oh," he mutters.

"Didn't know you two were friends," Coach says in the mildly interested tone that makes the team confess to anything.

"We're kinda friends." Guy looks up. "We were…getting to know each other."

"He's been asking about you. Caught me after practice the other day, asked if I'd talked to you. I told him I hadn't. Need me to pass along a message?"

"I dunno."

"He's a nice guy. Big step up for you."

"Huh?"

"Tommy's a good player, but he's a fight-starting jerk. You can do better than that."

Guy doesn't know what to say to that. Coach has his fierce look on, the one he pulls out when they're down by a touchdown as the fourth quarter starts up. "Okay."

Coach straightens up, clamps a hand on Guy's leg. "Look, Gardner, I came to check on you, and I came to make sure you're all right, but you've got all the signs of a man who's getting handled like he's gonna break because no one wants to tell you the flat truth."

Something in Guy warms up. It shoots through him, makes him shake a little. "Everyone's been nice," he says, and he can see by Coach's grin that he gets it.

"You've had it rough for awhile, kid, no question. And I can understand why everyone's concerned, given the damage you've got now, but you're not someone who's ever responded well to plain kindness."

"I—"

Coach cuts him off. "It's all right. Some people are built to be blunt, and you're one of them. So here it is: You're messed up right now. You're bruised and you're broken, and everything you knew—bad as it was at times—was what you knew, and you accepted it. Everyone's being nice, and everyone's being cautious, and they're doing it because they're scared for you. They think you won't heal up, that you won't work through everything that's happened. Let them be nice, all right? Let them coddle you a little and tell you it's okay to be angry and it's okay to be scared and it's okay to let your guard down. Because all of that's true. They'll come back around and remember who you are soon enough, but right now, what needs to happen is that you need to accept that a bunch of people care about you, and they're going to show it in ways you think are soft."

Guy doesn't know what to say. "Okay."

"And it's not your fault, Gardner. You got that? Not a single damned bit of it."

"I know—"

"No, you don't. Because no one's told you, yet. Because no one wants to upset you." Coach stands up, he leans over the bed. If it was his father, Guy thinks, he'd be cowering back, waiting for the punch, but it's not. It's Coach. "None of it's your fault. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good." Coach clasps him on the shoulder, gives him a bare whisper of his usual shake. "You're smart. Remember that."

"I will."

"All right." Coach sits back down. He stretches. "When do they—" he cuts off as Guy's mother walks back into the room.

"Here," she says, and she thrusts a mirror in Guy's direction. Her face is damp like she's just washed it, and she sniffles. "I had to go down to the third floor," she explains, and there's a hurried edge to it, like she's afraid Guy's going to call her a liar, or worse.

"Thanks, Mom," Guy says, and he takes the mirror. He doesn't look into it for a minute. "All right," he says, and he holds it up, makes himself look at himself. "Holy shit."

His face is mottled purple and green and yellow, the bruises running into one another from the bottom of his jaw up to his hairline. "Holy shit," he repeats, because it's all he can say.

"He slammed you against the wall," his mother says, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it. "He just kept slamming you against the wall." She sags into her chair and puts her head in her hands.

Guy doesn't know how to comfort her. He looks at Coach. Coach moves his chair closer, puts his hand on the armrest of his mother's chair, but he doesn't say anything. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Guy staring at his reflection, then at his mother, then at Coach. He puts the mirror on the bed table after awhile and presses himself into the pillows.

"Coach?"

"Yeah, Gardner?" Coach's voice is low, but he doesn't sound defeated, just interested.

"You gonna see Kyle around?"

"Probably. Usually see him in the halls. Want me to tell him to stop by?"

"Yeah. If it's all right." Guy looks at his mother. "Is it all right?"

"They're releasing you tomorrow," she says, "but he can stop by your brother's if he wants to visit before you go back to school."

"Thanks."

Coach pulls paper and pen from his pocket and writes down the address Guy's mother gives him. He stands afterwards, shaking her hand, patting Guy on the leg. "Remember what I said," he orders Guy.

"Yes, Coach."

Guy's mother watches Coach leave. "What'd he say?" she asks.

Coach had said everyone's being nice to help him. Guy thinks he can do the same for his mom. "He says I can be team manager," Guy tells her. "He says I'm still on the team."

"That's nice."

"Thanks for not showing me my face," he says. "It probably would have freaked me out."

She doesn't say anything in response. She grips his hand, and they sit in silence, and something in Guy warms up again. Something feels, he realizes, like it might be getting better.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, his mother and Mace take the day off work to sit with him until he's released. "You'll be in my room," Mace tells him. "Mom'll be in the guest room, and I'll be on the couch."

"I don't need your room."

"I'll switch out with you once your jaw gets unwired, all right?"

Guy adjusts his shoulders, reminding himself of Coach's advice to let people be nice. "Okay.

The nurse walks in, a stack of papers in her hands, and Guy only half-listens as she explains how to take care of his jaw and how to be careful of headaches, and asks where would they like the prescriptions sent for pick-up. He watches his mother and Mace instead, the way they're both staring at the nurse and nodding along. The way they glance at him every so often, his mother looking relieved and tired, Mace looking nervous.

"The doctor should have the papers signed in the next ten or fifteen minutes," the nurse concludes. She smiles at Guy. "We'll bring you a wheelchair to get you down to the car."

"I don't need a wheelchair. My legs are fine."

"Everyone gets a wheelchair," the nurse tells him. "It's hospital policy."

"I don't—"

"Policy," the nurse snaps, and the smile slides off her face.

Guy clenches his hands. "It's stupid."

"Guy," his mother admonishes. "Don't be rude."

"Are you sure he can't walk out?" Mace asks.

"He can't. We're very insistent on that rule."

Mace pulls a face. "Kind of a stupid rule if his legs are fine."

"Mace!"

"Sorry, Mom."

Guy sighs and leans back. "Fine. Whatever. I'll use the stupid chair."

The nurse doesn't gloat. She hands Guy's mom the paperwork and pats Guy on the knee. "Glad you agree. Feel better."

Guy doesn't look at his mother after the nurse leaves, but he can feel her watching him. "When can I go back to school?" he asks, staring at his hands.

"Soon," his mother promises. "Next week, as long as the doctor says it's okay."

"What am I supposed to do until then?"

"Rest," Mace tells him. "Get better."

"I feel fine."

"Because you haven't done anything for nearly a week."

Guy wants to argue further, poke at Mace until Mace snaps at him to shut up, but a man walks in with a wheelchair, the nurse from a few minutes before following.

"Papers are all signed," she tells them. "You can go home."

"Great." Guy swings his legs over the side of the bed, slides across the mattress until his feet touch the floor. When he stands up straight, there's a sudden burst of sparks in front of his eyes, and he has to clutch the side of the bed. "What—"

"You need to move slow for a little while," the nurse explains, grabbing him by the upper arm and leading him to the wheelchair. "You've only been up to go to the bathroom and walk around a little. Your head needs time to adjust."

Guy eases down into the seat of the wheelchair, lets the orderly put his feet on the little platforms. "I'm fine," he mumbles.

"Walk around a little today at home," the nurse instructs. "If you're feeling up to it tomorrow or the next day, you can go for a short walk."

"How short a walk?" Guy's mother asks.

"Until he's tired."

"Okay." She leans down, brushes Guy's hair out of his eyes. "Ready to go?"

"I'm fine," Guy repeats.

"Let's go," Mace interjects. "He can be cranky at home."

"I'm right here," Guy snaps.

Mace pokes him in the shoulder as the orderly starts leading them down the hallway to the elevator. "Bet you're asleep before we get to the car."

"Shaddup, Mace."

Mace laughs, and Guy glares at him as they get into the elevator. "I could sing you a lullaby."

"Shut. Up. Mace."

"Don't tease your brother," their mother scolds. "He's still recovering."

"I'm fine!" Guy tries to shout, but he's still learning how to talk around the wires in his mouth. "Mace can be a dick. I don't care."

"And don't call your brother a dick."

Guy and Mace look at one another, and they both look away. "Sorry, Mom," they mumble.

"Just…" She shakes her head. "Just save all of the sniping for later. We've got other things to do."

They both nod, glancing at each other again. Before either of them can say anything, they're on the ground floor, the orderly leading the way out the door, and Mace running to go get the car.

"You boys—"

"I know, Mom." Guy interrupts. "It's just…" He doesn't know how to explain it without sounding like a dick, how to tell her about the awkwardness he's feeling, the anger that he knows doesn't belong to either of them. His frustration with everyone treating him so nice. How it's actually kind of nice that Mace is pushing his buttons a little. "Do I have to wait until next week to go back to school?"

"Yes." She looks him over, and Guy wonders what she sees. "I'll call the school when we get to Mace's. I'll see if they can find someone to drop off your assignments." She points a finger at him. "But no overdoing it, you understand? The doctor says you'll probably have reading headaches for awhile. You need to rest."

"I will," Guy promises. "I'll be good." He watches a sad, drawn expression take over his mother's face.

"You've always been good," she murmurs, and before Guy can respond, Mace is pulling up in the car, jumping out, running around to the passenger side, and opening the back door for Guy.

"In case you wanna lay down," he explains.

"I'm not tired."

"Sure you're not."

Guy gets out of the chair, Mace putting a hand on his elbow to help. "I can do it."

"Uh-huh." But Mace doesn't let go until Guy is in the car, head leaning against the back of the seat. Guy bats away Mace's hands when Mace tries to buckle him in. "I got it."

"All right, all right," Mace grumbles and steps back. He opens the front passenger door for his mother, makes sure she's comfortable before shutting it behind her and walking back around the car.

Guy starts to say something sarcastic about Mace being a suck up, but his eyes feel heavy. He closes them, meaning to blink. In the front seat, he hears Mace say something that sounds like "told you so," and he hears his mother tell him not to start a fight. He wants to call Mace a dick and tell him to mind his own business, but he can't quite open his eyes.

"Come on, you bum," Mace's voice floats into Guy's consciousness. "I'm not carrying your butt upstairs."

Guy opens his eyes. He blinks. Mace is leaning over him, pushing the button to release his seat belt. "Get off me."

"Wake up, then."

Guy rubs his eyes and tries to yawn before he remembers his jaw. "I wasn't tired."

"It's probably all the meds."

"Where's Mom?"

"Upstairs checking on my bed-making skills."

Guy curls his fingers around Mace's shoulder as Mace helps him out of the car. He looks up and down the street. It's a clean street, the buildings slightly shabby but all the yards are cared for. The building they're standing in front of has four steps leading up to the door and a green front door. "How long are we staying with you?"

"Until you're not." Mace shifts so his shoulder is under Guy's arm. He shuts the car door with his foot. "Probably a few months. Maybe a little more."

"Why?"

"Mom needs support right now. Everything's gone sideways, and—"

"No," Guy interrupts as they get on the elevator, "I mean why are we staying with you?" He stares at his face in the mirrored surface of the elevator before looking at his feet.

"Because I want you to," Mace tells him. "Because I don't think you want to go back to the house where Dad nearly beat you to death."

"Oh."

Mace winces. "I didn't mean to—"

"Yeah. Whatever."

"Guy—"

"Mace, I'm tired. My head hurts. I don't want to talk about Dad right now." Guy winces when the elevator dings to announce their floor. "I just wanna go to sleep for awhile."

"All right. Come on. Just a few more steps." Mace steers Guy down a hallway carpeted in dark blue, to the second door on the left. He turns the knob, throws open the door, and maneuvers Guy inside. The living room has a purple couch and arm chair, a gray computer desk and a gray entertainment center.

"Your couch is a girl color," Guy mutters. His eyes are drooping again, and he fights to keep them open.

"Excellent observation from the brain damaged spazz," Mace replies. "Come on, just down the hallway." They walk straight down the hallway to a bedroom where Guy's mom is turning down the sheets. "He's admitted he wants to sleep," Mace says. "I think that means I win."

"No, you don't," Guy argues, and he doesn't quite make it under the covers before his eyes are closing again.

"I'm gonna wake you up in a couple of hours to make you eat," Mace says. "Mom's going to go to work, so it's gonna be me and you."

"Okay," Guy mumbles, and he jerks his leg when someone grabs his ankles.

"Getting your shoes off, honey," his mom says. "You're okay."

"Get some sleep, Guy," Mace orders. "You look like crap."

"Screw you," Guy mumbles, and he hears Mace laugh as he falls asleep again.


	9. Chapter 9

Guy wakes up a few hours later, forcing back the yawn that tries to rise up. He sits up in bed and listens to the noise in Mace's apartment as he considers what he needs to do. He needs to piss and eat and…There are voices coming from the living room. One is Mace. The other. Guy blinks, fights back another yawn, and pushes himself up from the bed. He stumbles towards the bathroom and relives himself, one hand on the back of the toilet. When he walks out, Mace is waiting by the door, a protein shake in his hand.

"Down the hatch," Mace says, "and there's a guy named Kyle here with your homework."

Guy slurps the shake through the straw, following Mace back to the living room. Kyle is sitting on one end of the couch, a soda on the coffee table in front of him, and Guy's books stacked on the middle cushion. Kyle's staring at him, and Guy rolls his shoulder to try and shake off the awkwardness. "Hey," Guy says.

"Hi." Kyle looks down at his hands, looks back at Guy. "Coach Kilowog said you needed someone to bring you your homework, and then he handed me your books, and…I figured he meant me." Kyle reaches for his soda. He takes a long drink. "You're…you're pretty bruised, huh?"

"Yeah," Guy replies, because he's not sure if that's an invitation to explain. He hears Mace chuckle behind him, and he swings his leg back, catches him in the shin.

"I'm gonna go…do…something," Mace mumbles, and he walks down the hall, closing the door to his bedroom.

Guy walks over to the couch, sits on the end opposite Kyle. He puts his glass on the coffee table and reaches for the stack of books on the middle cushion. "How badly did Mr. Jordan screw me?"

"Pretty bad. He assigned a paper while you were…" Kyle stares at Guy's face again. "While you were in the hospital," he finishes.

There's a headache edging around Guy's eyes, and he tries to push it back. "It doesn't hurt," he says. "I can't feel most of it because of the stuff they have me on for my jaw."

"Oh. That's…that’s good."

Guy looks up from flipping through his history book. "Something…" he doesn't know how to phrase it. "I don't remember a lot about what happened," he says. "I know I talked to Coach, and I think I talked to you."

Kyle squirms. "Yeah." He stands up so fast he nearly falls over. "I need to…I've…My mom's gonna wonder where I am." He doesn’t move, just stays standing by the couch, hands clenching and unclenching.

Guy watches him, unsure what to do. "I'm supposed to go back to school next week," he says. "I guess I'll see you on Monday."

"Yeah." Kyle steps around the coffee table, takes two steps towards the door, stops. "Wait. I can't…You don't remember talking to me the day…" He gestures to Guy's face. "You don't remember that?"

Guy shakes his head. "No. They told me I've got brain damage."

"Oh. I didn’t…that didn't get around school."

"People at school know?" It's an idea Guy hasn't considered, and he presses his palms flat against his book to keep his hands from shaking.

Kyle looks down, jams his hands into his pockets. He glances at Guy, looks away again, and directs his answer towards the carpet. "It made the paper," he says. "They didn't give any names or addresses, but the story said that the vict—that you—were a student at school, and you being gone so long made some people start to say some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

Kyle walks around the coffee table, drops into the armchair perpendicular to the couch. "They guessed it was you, and then other people started talking about how they'd seen you with bruises and stuff, and then you were gone."

"Shit," Guy mutters. He closes his history book, puts it back on the stack. "So everyone knows?"

"Everyone thinks they know." Kyle doesn't sound like he believes it makes a difference. "You could tell them something else."

"Yeah. Sure."

Silence lands in the room. Kyle and Guy look at one another, then away. Guy takes in a breath to tell Kyle he can leave, but before he can do anything, Kyle jumps out of his seat and rocks back on his heels. "I'm sorry," he nearly shouts. "I'm really, really sorry. I was gonna apologize, but then you said you couldn't remember, and I figured I could get away with it, but I just…I can't just pretend like I didn't act like an asshole, because I did act like an asshole, and…I'm sorry."

Guy blinks. "You're sorry?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You…you told me your dad was going to really whale on you. You said you were worried about going home because you thought it'd be worse than usual, and you asked if you could—if you could stay at my place. And I…" Kyle looks away, over Guy's shoulder at the opening to the hallway. "I told you to leave me alone. I thought you were…I thought you were getting back at me for being kind of a jerk to you about the whole thing in the lockerroom. I thought you were trying to make everything sound really bad to make me feel bad for pushing you about the whole thing."

"Coach came to see me in the hospital," Guy says, looking down at the coffee table. "He said I yelled at you to leave me alone."

"Yeah." Kyle slumps back into the armchair. "But, I mean, I had it coming. I mean…" He looks Guy in the face, eyes lingering on some of the darker bruises. "If I'd let you crash at my place you'd—"

"He'd have done this to my mom," Guy interrupts. "I'd rather…My mom, she doesn't…" Guy runs a hand over his hair. "It's all really fucked up."

Kyle doesn’t respond for a long moment. "I don't know where my dad is," he says finally, voice quiet. "He's never been around, and my mom doesn't know where he is. She works a lot, and I have art class, and it sucks sometimes. And when I came out, most of my friends kind of freaked, and then I had a bunch of people who told me they thought they were gay, but none of them…they won't come out. And then you…" Kyle looks down at his hands. "I thought you'd be different."

It takes Guy a moment to find his voice. "Why?"

"I…I don't know. You were just always…You always seemed to know what you were doing and what you wanted, and when you…when you kissed me, I thought—" Kyle laces his fingers around the back of his head and hunches into himself. "I thought you knew what you were doing."

Guy tries to scoff. It doesn't quite work with his jaw wired. "How could I know what I'm doing?"

"You always know what you're doing," Kyle says, so certain Guy wonders if maybe it's true. "Everyone knows that."

"They do?"

Kyle unlaces his fingers, raises his head, gives Guy a searching look. "Are you fucking with me?"

"What?"

"You're acting like you don't know that everyone follows along after you."

Guy blinks. "What are you talking about?"

"You're…you're you, Guy. If you say something's cool, the whole school picks it up."

"Stop shitting me."

"I'm not! You're—" Kyle swallows back the rest of his sentence. "Oh. You didn't actually know that, did you?"

"I'm not popular."

"Yeah, you are."

Guy shakes his head. "No, I'm not. Tommy's—"

"Tommy's cool because you're cool."

"He's—"

"You're cool." Kyle states. "People listen to you."

"No, they don't."

"Yeah, they do." Kyle holds out his hand before Guy can disagree again. "Look, the point is that I thought you kissed me because you wanted—you wanted to come out. And you thought, maybe, that we'd get caught. And…and I'm sorry I was a dick."

"It's…" Guy ruffles his hair. "Okay," he says. "It's okay. I was a total dick, too." He shakes his head. "And I'm not popular."

"You are," Kyle says, and he smiles a little. " You actually are."

Guy unconsciously squints in confusion, then winces when it makes his head hurt. "I'm not anybody. I'm just a dumb jock."

"You're taking AP Calculus. All the dumb jocks are in Algebra II."

Guy looks at the stack of books on the couch. "It's just math."

Kyle snorts. "Yeah, just math." He stands and stretches, putting his arms behind his head. "Look, my mom's gonna be waiting for me to get home but if you…if you want to hang out, I'm around. I put my number on the sheet from Mr. Jordan." Kyle looks down, a blush flaring across his face. "And if you wanna go to a movie or something, I'd…I'd be up for that."

"Okay. Maybe. My mom's kinda protective right now."

"Okay." Kyle takes a step back towards the front door. "I'll see you at school if you don't have time to hang out this week."

"Yeah. See you." Guy watches Kyle leave, listens to the latch as he closes the door. He leans back against the couch cushions and puts his hands over his face. "Fuck," he mutters.

"He seems nice."

Guy nearly jumps out of his skin, but he doesn't yelp in surprise. When he whips around to face Mace, Mace still looks triumphant. "You were eavesdropping?"

"Yeah," Mace says, nonchalant. He walks over to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and pulls out a soda. He sets it on the open-air counter facing the living room and pops the top. "You kissed him, huh?"

"Shut up."

Mace waves a hand at Guy's tone. "I'm serious, Guy. I mean, you told me you were gay, but I hadn't realized you'd…tested it."

Guy covers his eyes with his hands. "You are so lame."

"What?"

"I'm…gay…Mace. It's not a science project." Guy drops his hands so he can look at Mace. "It's just…gay."

"You know that's not what I meant." Mace slumps into the armchair and puts his feet on the coffee table. "He really does seem like an okay guy."

"He draws," Guy says and wonders why he's said it. "He said I'm popular."

"You probably are."

"No, I'm not. I've never been popular."

"Is Kyle popular?"

"No."

"Then you probably are." Mace shrugs when Guy gives him a confused look. "Cop knowledge 101: If you want to know who's popular, ask the kids who aren't."

"What does being popular have to do with...the gay thing?"

Mace thinks for a moment, sipping his soda and crinkling his eyebrows together. "Kyle's out at school, right?"

"Yeah."

"On purpose?"

"Huh?"

"He wasn't caught out in something illicit, was he? He's out at school because he wants to be?"

"Yeah. I think so. I don't…I don't really know him very well. Like, I knew who he was, and I knew about the rumors, but we didn't really hang out much before…" Guy can't say the rest of it. Mace looks like he's about to start laughing. "Before." Guy finishes.

Mace coughs into his fist and looks away from Guy for a moment. "All right," he says, and his voice is even. When he looks at Guy again, his expression is serious. Then, judging by the way he was talking—"

"Fucking eavesdropper," Guy interrupts.

"—he's probably the only person who's actually fully out at your school," Mace finishes without missing a beat. "And if you were out, it'd help him a lot. It'd help the other gay kids a lot, too."

Guy mulls that over. "How does it help? I'd just be the other gay guy."

"No, you'd be the popular gay guy. The gay guy who plays football and who everyone wants to follow because he's cool."

Guy watches Mace's face, searching for the joke. "Really?"

"Yeah." Mace takes his feet off the coffee table and leans forward in his chair. "Look, Guy, I'm not saying you have to be out, okay? You told Mom and me, and you—apparently—kissed Kyle before telling either of us—"

"I didn't—"

"It's all right," Mace says, and his tone is low, soothing, like when they were kids, and their dad had finally passed out after screaming and throwing things for hours. "You told us. That's the part that matters. And, hell, given Dad, I'm surprised you ever said a word or even got within ten feet of a guy you wanted to kiss."

"I didn't know I wanted to," Guy confesses, and he doesn't mean to say anything more, but it starts to tumble out, half-slurred because of the wires in his mouth. "Tommy's been a dick about him all year, and it just kept bugging me, but I didn't want Tommy to think I was…I was gay, but then the whole thing just got—it reached this level, and I kept trying to stop myself, but I couldn't do it, you know? I couldn't—"

"I know," Mace interrupts. He reaches over and puts his hand on Guy's knee. "I moved out as soon as I could get the money together for a shit apartment. The tension in the house, especially with me going through the academy and learning the names for all the shit Dad did, it made crazy."

"Yeah," Guy mutters. "Kind of like that." He looks at Mace's hand on his knee, looks at Mace's face. "Everyone in school knows about Dad," he says even though he knows Mace already knows. "I don't…I don't think I can be this," he gestures to his face, "and be the other gay kid."

"That's okay," Mace says. He gives Guy's knee a shake. "Just remember, if something changes, if you decide to be out, don't show any fear, all right?"

He knows plenty about not showing fear, Guy thinks, about sticking out his jaw to give his dad better aim, about staying seated in his chair when his dad flipped the dining room table. About throwing the first punch so the fight could just happen and be over with. "If I was out…" Guy starts, "do you think it would make people leave Kyle alone?"

"No. People are going to be dicks because they want to be. But you being out could be an example to people. It could fuck with some expectations." Mace shrugs, leans back into the chair again, his hand sliding off Guy's knee. "Maybe it'd help other kids come out, too, but that's not your responsibility, okay? If you don't want to be out, you don't have to be. You can be Kyle's friend without putting yourself in the firing line."

But Kyle's in the firing line everyday, Guy thinks. Kyle probably spends most of his time at school waiting for people to mock him or knock him around. "I'm gonna think about it," Guy says. "Maybe not right away, you know? But if everyone already knows that dad's an asshole, it probably can't get much worse."

"And if it does," Mace replies, "you already know how to throw a punch." He grimaces as he says it. "That came out wrong."

Guy laughs, a sudden burst of sound he's not expecting. "You are such a fucking spaz."

"Yeah, well, at least I don't have to drink my dinner."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you." Mace stands up, leans over, and very carefully tousles Guy's hair. "When you make a decision, let me know, okay? I can get you some information about how to deal with any massive assholes legally."

"They teach you that stuff at the academy?"

Mace nods. "Between how to shoot a gun and how to take a blast of pepper spray to the face."

"They blast you with pepper spray?"

"Yup."

"Need to practice?"

Mace laughs. "No. You dick."

Guy watches Mace walk into the kitchen. "Thanks," he says when Mace is blocked by the fridge. "For…this."

Mace doesn't say anything for a long moment. "You're welcome," he replies, and Guy is pretty sure he's imagining the way Mace voice breaks a little.


	10. Chapter 10

Guy spends the next few days alternately sleeping and trying to do his homework. He meets with Dr. Saarek on Thursday, his mom giving him a brave smile as he walks into the office.

"It's good to see you, Guy," Dr. Saarek greets him. The whole office is decorated in green and black, and Guy sits in a green armchair across from Dr. Saarek. "How's your week been?"

Guy shifts in his chair and looks around the office. There are books on every wall, and Dr. Saarek's desk has a stack of files on one corner. "It's okay," he says, when he realizes Dr. Saarek is waiting for an answer. "I just sleep a lot."

"Is that all you've done this week?"

"Pretty much." Guy shrugs when Dr. Saarek raises his eyebrows. "I get a headache when I read, and I get a headache when I try to play video games or do anything that requires effort."

"That usually gets better over time," Dr. Saarek tells him. "It must be frustrating."

"It sucks. I've got a history paper due, and I've got calculus to do, and I have reading for English and…" Guy trails off. "There's stuff," he says.

"You're going back to school on Monday, correct?" Dr. Saarek waits for Guy's nod. "Talk to your teachers about it. I'm sure they can work out a homework plan for you that would help you."

Guy looks at the bookshelves again. "I can do my homework."

"I'm sure you can, but if you're struggling—"

"I'm not struggling," Guy interrupts. "I can do my homework."

Dr. Saarek is silent for a moment. He taps his fingers against the arm of his chair. "It's okay to ask for help, Guy."

"I don’t need help." It comes out more vicious than Guy intends it. Dr. Saarek doesn't seem shocked, and Guy rubs a hand over his head. "I don’t…" He wonders how to explain it, years of his father barking at him to do his own goddamned work, to be a man. Men don't ask for help, his father always said. Any man who asks for help is a fucking sissy.

"What are you thinking, Guy?" Dr. Saarek asks, voice low.

"My dad's a dick," Guy says without thinking. He presses a hand to his mouth. "I didn't—I didn't mean that."

"No?"

"I didn't…" Guy looks at his hands, flexes them on his knees. "My mom cries at night," he says, and he doesn't know where the confession comes from. "She does it really late, and I think I'm not supposed to know, but I wake up at weird times because I'm sleeping so much, and I can hear her."

"Why do you think she cries?"

"Because…" Guy looks at Dr. Saarek. "Because her life fucking sucks."

"Does it?"

"If I hadn't…"

"If you hadn't?"

Guy digs for the end of the sentence. "I started it, sometimes," he says. "With my dad. I knew if I just stayed quiet, he'd leave me alone, but I'd—I'd say something to piss him off so he'd swing at me."

"Why?"

"If…if he didn't hit me, he'd hit her."

"Your mother?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think that's what makes her upset?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I think she blames herself for me starting those fights."

"Why is that?"

"Because she's my mom."

Dr. Saarek cocks his head at that. "She's the woman who stayed married to your father for all those years."

Guy tries to sneer at him, but he can't get his lips to move right because of the wires in his mouth. "I know that," he snarls. "That doesn't mean she doesn't love me."

"It doesn't?"

"I'm not some stupid kid, doc. I know some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"I know Dad made Mom sign over her paycheck to him. And I know that means she didn't have any money unless he gave it to her."

"I'm not following."

Guy rolls his eyes. "It means Mom didn't have the money to get away."

Dr. Saarek leans back in his chair, settles his right ankle on his left knee. "I'm impressed," he says after a moment.

Guy blinks at Dr. Saarek. "Why?"

"You said you've spent the week sleeping and trying to do your homework. It sounds like you spent some time thinking, too."

Guy bristles. "So what? I can think."

"I'm not surprised that you did think, Guy. I'm surprised at where those thoughts led you."

"Huh?"

"You're astute," Dr. Saarek explains. "And you've taken what seems like some very good advice and put it to use. That's excellent."

Guy shrugs, feeling embarrassed but proud for a reason he can't name. "Mom and I talked in the hospital. She said some stuff, and I've just…I've been thinking about it."

"That's very good."

"I was mad at her," Guy admits, "when I woke up at the hospital, and I was mad at everybody else, too. I thought—I thought everyone was being nice because they felt bad for me."

"What changed your mind?"

"Coach."

"Coach Kilowog?"

"Yeah." Guy narrows his eyes. "You've talked to him," he accuses. Betrayal fizzes through him. He's not sure if he's mad at Coach for talking or Dr. Saarek for asking.

"I've spoken with him," Dr. Saarek confirms. "I also spoke with your principal."

"Why?"

"It's standard procedure for me to meet with school officials when my clients are from family services."

Guy takes a moment to interpret that. "You were seeing if I got into trouble at school."

"Yes."

"And?"

"Your coach and your principal both mentioned a fight with a boy named Tommy."

Guy shifts in his chair. "Tommy's a dick."

"Coach Kilowog mentioned you were friends before the fight."

"We…no."

"You weren't friends."

"We were—" Guy presses his mouth closed. A sliver of pain radiates in his mouth, centering right near his jaw joint. "We were both football players. So we…hang out."

"Coach Kilowog mentioned he made you team manager."

Guy squirms in his seat. "Yeah." He watches Dr. Saarek watch him. "What?"

"You seem uncomfortable."

"I don't like people knowing stuff about me."

"People?"

"You. I don't like you just knowing stuff about me that I haven't told you. It's…"

"Yes?"

"It's a fucking cheat." Guy spits out. "It's not fair that you know all kinds of stuff about me and all I know is that you're some guy I'm supposed to talk to, and you're bald, and your office is green and black."

"What do you want to know about me?"

"Nothing!" Guy shouts. "I don't give a shit! I'm just tired of people saying shit about me! I'm tired of people assuming!"

Dr. Saarek's tone gives nothing away. "Assuming what?"

"Assuming…" Guy stares at the opposite wall. There's a bell on a shelf. It's bronze, and Guy can tell that something is engraved on it. "There's this guy I know," he hears himself say, "and I defended him, and Tommy thought…" Guy keeps staring at the bell. "I know he was just being an asshole, but he was right, and I…I didn't want to be."

"What didn't you want to be, Guy?"

"Gay." Guy breathes out, waiting for the head rush that comes with saying it. He feels relief, but no rush. "I'm gay." He says, and he looks away from the bell, looks at Dr. Saarek. "I told my mom and my brother, but I haven't—I'm not really…out."

Dr. Saarek nods. "I see. I appreciate you telling me, Guy."

"Yeah. Sure." Guy looks down at his hands. "Who do you have to tell about me?"

Dr. Saarek furrows his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Who hears about what I say in here?"

"Our meetings are confidential. All I can tell anyone outside of this office is that you are my patient."

"You don't say anything to my social worker?"

"Not unless you pose a danger to yourself or someone else."

Guy thinks that over. "What if I said I wanted to punch my dad in the throat?"

Dr. Saarek smiles a little. "I'd talk to you about it, and at the end of the discussion, if I honestly thought you'd punch your father in the throat, I would let the appropriate people know."

Some of Guy's defensiveness slides away, and he feels himself relax. "Oh. Okay." He leans back in his chair a little and wonders what to do next. "Do I keep talking?"

"I'd like you to."

"What do I talk about?"

"What do you want to talk about?"

Guy thinks for a moment. "There's a guy I know. Kyle. He's…we're friends. A little." He raises an eyebrow at Dr. Saarek. "But you probably know that."

Dr. Saarek chuckles. "I don't, actually."

"Coach didn't mention him?"

"He didn't."

"Huh." Guy digests that, feels himself smiling a little. The betrayal that's been low in his belly dissipates. "Okay."

"Do you want to talk about Kyle?" Dr. Saarek asks.

Guy almost says yes, but he swallows hard instead. He's been kind of a bastard to Kyle, he knows, not acknowledging him, not listening. Kyle says he's been a bastard back, but he's not been as bad, Guy thinks. Kyle, at least, has been trying to talk to him. "No," he says. "I don't want to talk about him." It's not much, Guy thinks, but it's what he can do.

"That's fine," Dr. Saarek says. He glances at his watch, then back at Guy. "We can call it a day, if you like."

"Aren't we supposed to go for an hour or something?"

"Usually, but I think for a first, official session, we've done remarkably well. Which I think earns us a break."

A part of Guy itches to stay, to talk about something, anything, knowing that Dr. Saarek can't say a word. "Okay," he says instead, because a larger part of him feels worn down and tired.

"I am going to issue an order before we split up," Dr. Saarek says as he stands and gestures Guy towards the door. "Call Kyle and spend some time with him before you go back to school."

"Why?"

"Because you mentioned him and then requested not to talk about him, which tells me if he's not very important to you, you want him to be."

Guy twitches. "That's creepy."

Dr. Saarek shrugs. "It's not mind-reading, Guy, just education and experience."

"Still creepy."

Dr. Saarek chuckles again as he opens the door to his outer office. He nods at Guy's mother and shakes her hand. "How are you, Peggy?"

"I'm doing well," she replies. She reaches out, touches Guy's shoulder. "Ready, honey?"

"Sure," Guy says. He waves goodbye to Dr. Saarek, lets his mother lead him from the office to the car. "Do you talk to him?" he asks as she starts the engine.

"Starting tomorrow," she answers. "It's required."

"Like me?"

She gives him a smile as she turns to check her blind spot. "Yes, like you. And Mace is going as well. On Mondays, I think."

"Why is Mace going?"

"Because it's good for all of us." Her voice catches as she clears her throat. "Because it can help."

Guy looks out his window and listens to his mother sniffle. "He said I should invite Kyle over this weekend," Guy says after a moment. "He said it was an order." His mother laughs a little, and Guy looks at her. Her eyes are bright, but he doesn't see tear tracks. "What?"

"An order," she says. "It's just…funny."

"Is it?"

She waves a hand at him. "I'm just being weird, honey."

"Oh."

"It's…" She shakes her head, and Guy suddenly sees himself in her, the way she's holding in everything, the set of her jaw. He'd always assumed he'd taken after his father, with his temper. "Let's have him over for dinner." She states, and Guy sees another flash of himself. She's fearless, he realizes, in small ways. He wants to hug her.

"Okay," he agrees. "All right."


	11. Chapter 11

He can't call at four, Guy thinks, because Kyle probably won't be home from school, and Kyle said he took art classes, but he didn't say when, and Guy wonders if calling at five would be too late, because maybe then Kyle and his mom have already started making dinner, but if he calls at five, he can say he's calling to invite him for tomorrow, but that sounds totally lame and girly, and he doesn't—

"Jesus Christ, quit being a girl and call him." Mace says, rolling his eyes.

"Mace!" his mother admonishes. She'd taken a half day off, her appointment with Dr. Sarrek had been over her lunch break, and she'd come back to Mace's apartment, the lines around her mouth telling Guy she's tired.

"He's gonna put a hole in my carpet if he keeps pacing like that," Mace responds. "I've got a security deposit to think about."

Guy watches his mother fight back a smile. "Be kind," she says, and her tone is soft. "He'll make the call when he wants."

"What if he's doing something?" Guy asks, trying not to squirm when they both turn to look at him.

"Then you invite him over tomorrow night," his mother tells him.

"But that's—"

"Stop it," Mace orders, and he holds up a hand before his mother can lecture him. "Either get on the phone and see if he answers, or stop staring at the phone."

"He's not home, yet." Guy says. "School doesn't get out for an hour."

"All right." Mace stands, walks to the coat rack by the door, and slips on his coat. He tosses Guy's coat to him. "C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

"Out." Mace makes a hurry-up motion in Guy's direction. "C'mon," he orders.

Guy slips on his coat and kisses his mom's cheek before following Mace out the door. They walk down the front steps, and Mace turns left, ducking against the almost-cold wind as they walk to the corner and turn left again. "Where we going?" Guy asks as they cut around a couple holding hands.

"Here," Mace says and opens the door to a coffeeshop.

The coffeeshop is done up in burnished, black-brown wood and lots of shades of blue. The girl behind the counter beams at Mace and immediately pours him a cup of coffee. "I didn't expect to see you, Officer Gardner," she says.

"Soranik, this is Guy, my little brother," Mace replies. He sips his coffee and gestures for Guy to shake Soranik's hand. "Guy, this is Soranik. She's here working through med school."

Guy shakes her hand and glances at Mace. "Okay." He blinks when Soranik beams at him.

"It's about time you brought him in," Soranik admonishes Mace. "I've had the blend ready all week."

Guy blinks again when Soranik gives him a little smile and darts away. "Blend?"

"She's into tea," Mace explains. "Like, really into tea. I mentioned you had your jaw broken, and she went off about willow bark and raspberry leaf and aspirin and muscle relaxants, and she made me promise I'd bring you by."

He's missing something, Guy is certain, but he doesn't know what. "…Okay."

Mace sips his coffee again. "I didn't just bring you here for the tea. I wanted to talk to you."

And now Guy is absolutely certain he has no idea what's going on. "What the hell?" he asks, but before he can get an answer, Soranik is back at the counter, a perfectly round, kelly green mug with a white stripe in her hands. There's a chain that ends in a circular charm hanging over the edge of the mug.

"Let that steep another four minutes," she orders Guy. "And be careful, the mug is really warm."

Guy wraps his fingers around the handle of the mug and touches his other hand to the bare side of the mug. He adjusts his grip so his palm is supporting the bottom, and the heat is bearable. "Got it."

"What do I owe you?" Mace asks.

"Cops drink free, Officer Gardner. You know that." She grins at Guy. "And so do their little brothers as long as they don't want anything fancy."

"Thanks," Guy mutters, staring into his mug rather than meeting Soranik's eyes. There's something very knowing about her, Guy thinks, like she can see all his insides at once.

"C'mon," Mace says, and he puts a hand on Guy's shoulder, leading him to a square, scuffed table in the back corner. There's a sign on the wall above it: "Reserved for Officers." Mace sits facing the door, taking another sip of his coffee. "You have to be confident," Mace says without preamble. "If you sound like you're scared, you lose points."

Guy pulls on the chain that's dangling out of his cup. It ends in a ball covered with small holes. He dangles it over his cup for a moment before Mace puts down a napkin for him to set it on.

"Tea ball," Mace explains. "It's like a tea bag, but it's metal."

Guy nods at the information and sips the tea. It tastes like nothing he's ever had before, but it doesn't quite taste bad. There's sugar in it, and that helps. "Confidence?" he asks.

"For calling Kyle," Mace says, and he says it so matter-of-fact that it takes a second for Guy's heart to trip-hammer.

"What?" Guy hisses.

"Relax," Mace tells him, looking around. "I'm not hanging a fucking banner. Jesus. There's no way anyone from your school is here right now."

"Unless they're skipping," Guy grits out.

"Then I'll arrest them for truancy, and they'll forget they ever saw you here." Mace gives Guy an apologetic grin. "Sorry."

Guy stares into his tea. "It's okay. It's just…" He doesn't know how to explain how he wants to tell people, but he doesn't at the same time. He takes a sip of his tea and looks at Mace again. "And how do you know how to talk to guys?" he asks, voice only slightly quieter than normal.

Mace shrugs. "It's the same as talking to girls, I figure. You like someone, so you have to do certain things to get noticed. I'm not gonna recommend you take Kyle flowers or something, but asking him over? That's pretty standard." Mace holds up his hand near his face, his thumb resting near his ear, his pinkie near his mouth. "Hey, it's Guy. What are you doing?" He pauses like he's having a real conversation. "Cool. Look, I was wondering if you wanted to come over and have dinner tonight." He pauses again. "Oh, like seven. My brother can drop you off after we hang out if it's really late, and you don't want to take the bus." He drops his hand and grins at Guy. "Just like that."

Guy thinks about it, hears the whole conversation in his head, sees himself answering the door and saying hi to Kyle without feeling like a complete girl. "What if he says no?"

"Ask him if he's busy tomorrow."

"What if he says no to that?"

"Tell him you'll see him on Monday, then."

Guy wrinkles his nose and stares over Mace's shoulder at a painting of a huge white temple balanced on the edge of a frothing blue waterfall. "I don't wanna get rejected."

"Nut up, man. Read the situation."

"What?"

Mace cocks his head at Guy and studies him for a moment. He breaks into a grin and lets out a burst of laughter before covering his mouth. "You are completely damned clueless, aren’t you? The guy's already come by to check up on you, man. He wrote his number on your homework—"

"Eavesdropping douchebag," Guy mutters.

"You're in." Mace concludes. "You are so in."

"Yeah?"

"If he turns you down, it'll be because he's actually busy. Or an idiot."

"He's not an idiot," Guy mumbles, and he takes a long drink of his tea so he doesn’t have to see the amused look on Mace's face.

Mace stands up and walks to the counter. He comes back with two paper to-go cups and hands one to Guy. "C'mon. It's nearly four. Let's get home so you can call and get it over with."

Guy pours the rest of his tea into the cup and waves to Soranik as they leave. "The tea's supposed to do something, right?" he asks Mace as they step outside again.

"She says it should help with the pain in your jaw and maybe help your headaches, but she also says aspirin and the drugs the doctors already have you on will probably work better."

"Why'd she make it, then?"

"She likes to help people, and she likes to play with tea." Mace shrugs as they turn the first corner. "I think it keeps her busy when the place is slow."

Guy squints into the wind and tightens his hold on his cup. "Most people aren't assholes, are they?"

"No." Mace clears his throat. "Not that we'd notice at home, but no, most people aren't."

"Is that why you're a cop?"

"Partly." Mace slings his arm around Guy's shoulder, reels him in close under the pretext of getting out of the way of a woman with a stroller, but he keeps his arm around Guy's shoulder as they take the turn that lets them see the stoop of Mace's building. "I couldn't come up with any way to help you or mom," Mace says so quietly that Guy almost misses it. "So I guess I figured I'd save the rest of the city instead."

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

He doesn't, Guy thinks. He sips his tea and stays quiet until they're walking up the front steps of Mace's building. "Do you like talking to Dr. Sarrek?"

Mace shrugs. "I've only just started, but it's all right, I guess."

"I like it."

"Yeah?"

"I like that he can't tell anyone what I say. It's…nice. He can't start shit, you know?"

Mace looks him up and down. "Yeah." He says. Guy waits for him to say something else, but Mace just presses the call button for the elevator and rocks back on his heels.

"Thanks," Guy says.

"For what?"

For being my brother, Guy thinks but holds it back. Mace will give him no end of justifiable shit if he ever says that out loud. "For the tea, and the whole talking thing about Kyle."

"No problem. I'm telling you, it's in the bag."

Guy grins as they get on the elevator, taking the ride in silence. When they get back to the apartment, he gives his mother a quick smile as he walks over to the phone and dials. If he stops to think about it, he knows he won't do it.

It rings once. Twice. Guy turns towards the wall as it rings a third time. Halfway through the fourth ring, there's a click, a clatter, and a muffled swear.

"Hold on!" Kyle's voice yells over the line. There's another clatter, another curse. "Hi," Kyle says, out of breath. "Sorry, I just got home. Who's this, please?"

"Hey…" Guy swallows and glances over his shoulder. His mother is pretending not to listen, flipping through a magazine, but Mace is looking right at him, gesturing for him to keep going. "It's Guy."

"Oh! Hi!" There's a shuffling sound and a couple of muffled thumps. "Sorry about the phone thing, I was unlocking the door, and then I had to run for it, and then I dropped it, and now we're on the phone." Kyle breathes in deep. "What's up?"

Kyle's explanation makes Guy lose his place in his internal script. "Um…You wanna come over for dinner?" It comes out faster than he plans, and he cringes at himself. "I mean, if you wanna."

"Oh." Kyle doesn't say anything for a moment. "My mom and I usually have dinner together on Fridays. We don't see each other a lot, so…"

Guy looks over his shoulder again. His mother has given up on pretending like she's not listening, and she and Mace are both watching him now. "We could do it some other time," he says. "I mean, if you've got a thing with your mom."

"Invite her," his mother whispers.

"Your mom could come too," Guy says before he can think how lame it sounds. He sees Mace wince, and he turns away from them again. "I mean, if that's not…lame."

"Um, yeah, that could work. She's not gonna be home for an hour, but I can ask when she comes home."

Guy can't tell if Kyle thinks inviting his mom is actually a bad move. "Or we could just do something tomorrow. If you don't—"

"No!" Kyle interrupts. He clears his throat, and there's a thumping sound over the line. "I mean, you know, if you're cool with her being there, I'm okay. My mom's pretty cool. And she…she kinda wants to meet you anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just…I dropped off your homework, and I've mentioned you a couple times and stuff, so she wants to meet you. So. Yeah. I'll see if she wants to come."

"Cool. Sure." Guy swallows hard, twists the phone cord in his hand. "Just call me back when you know, okay?"

"Yeah. What's your number?"

Guy rattles it off, and Kyle repeats it back. "That's it," Guy confirms. "So…just…call back." He wants to thump himself on the forehead for how stupid he sounds, but he's pretty sure it'll give him a headache.

"Yeah. I'll do that."

"Okay." Guy waits a few seconds for Kyle to say something else. "Bye."

"See you."

Guy hangs up the phone and stares at it for a moment. "His mom doesn't get home for another hour. He's gonna call back."

"That'll be fine," his mother says. She stands up and walks into the kitchen, pausing to kiss Guy on top of the head. "I was just going to make pasta and garlic bread and salad, so we'll have plenty for four."

"Thanks, Mom." Guy turns away from the wall and raises his eyebrows at Mace, who's grinning. "What?"

"So just call back," Mace teases in a falsetto. "So. Lame. You are not my brother."

"Shaddup," Guy mutters.

"Seriously, you are so not my brother. He's adopted, right Mom? You found him in a basket with a note that said he was completely lame?"

"Of course not," their mother replies. She winks at Guy. "But I think I found you in something like that."

Mace grumbles half-heartedly under his breath and gives Guy a gentle shove. "Go shower."

"Why?"

"Because you shower before a date."

"It's not—"

"Yeah, it—"

"And I don't even know—"

"Fine." Mace rolls his eyes. "Go shower because you smell. Whatever. Just go. You're just gonna stare at the phone otherwise."

"I will not—"

"And you're pace around and try not to ask why he's not calling, and I'll have to call you a girl again, and Mom will yell at me and—"

"I'm going! I'm going!" Guy shouts to drown out the rest of Mace's litany. "Jesus. You're such a spaz."

"Yeah," Mace scoffs, "I'm the spaz."

Guy ignores him in favor of walking into the bathroom and starting the shower. He looks at himself in the mirror as the water heats up. The bruises on his face are fading out into yellow and green and brown. He pokes at a few of them, and there's only a little bit of pain. He uses his hands to comb his hair forward, then back, then parts it down the middle. None of it looks particularly different from what he's been doing, and he steps into the shower wondering if he should wear a nice shirt.

"Chill," he mutters to himself as he wets down his hair and reaches for Mace's body wash. It's supposed to smell like the ocean, and it's the only thing in the apartment Mace has requested Guy and their mother not use. Guy squeezes the bottle until he has a full palm of the stuff. He rubs himself down and rinses off before washing his hair and scrubbing his face.

The bathroom is steam-filled when Guy turns off the water, and he enjoys the haze of it as he towels off and rubs his hair dry enough to push off his face with his fingers. He looks at himself in the mirror again and rubs a hand carefully over his jaw. A week without shaving has left him with enough stubble to shave if he wants. He eyes his razor and considers having to push down on his jaw if he hits a tough spot.

"Stubble is hot," he tells his reflection and opens the door.

"Is there any hot water left in the building?" Mace hollers from the living room.

"I dunno," Guy replies, "but the hot air seems to be working just fine."

"Oh, zing," Mace deadpans.

Guy rolls his eyes as he closes the door to Mace's bedroom. His clothes are on a garment rack in the corner, and Guy spends a few minutes staring at it before shaking his head at his actions and grabbing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt at random. He dresses and cuts back across the hall to check his hair in the bathroom. It looks all right, pushed straight back from his forehead, and he decides to leave it.

"Guy," his mother calls down the hall, "set the table when you're finished dressing."

"All right," he calls back. He rubs a hand across his jaw again and pulls a face. "Nut up," he says to himself, takes a deep breath, and walks down the hall.

"You're wearing that?" Mace asks, eyes wide in mock-horror.

"Cram it." Guy flicks at Mace's nose, but Mace ducks away.

"Guy. Table." His mother reminds him.

"Yeah, Guy. Table." Mace teases, but he stands up and gets placemats while Guy grabs plates.

"Go ahead and set it for five," their mother instructs. "If they can't make it, we can just put everything back in the cupboards."

"I don't need a plate," Guy points out.

"We can set your glass on your plate," his mother responds. "It'll look nice."

"Okay." Guy agrees, because it sounds good.

He concentrates on setting the table, trying not to look at the clock as he sets out the plates, glasses, and silverware. He'd been in the shower about fifteen minutes, he figures. And he probably spent another ten getting dressed, maybe, so it's only half an hour until Kyle calls back. If he calls back. Maybe he won't call back. Maybe he'll decide he doesn't want to hang out with Guy, or maybe he'll decide he doesn't want to introduce his mom to Guy.

"Hey," Mace says, and he nudges Guy's shoulder. "How's your head feel?"

"Okay."

"Like, 'I-could-use-a-few-minutes-on-the-couch-o

kay' or like, "I-can-get-my-ass-kicked-at-Soul-Caliber-Four-on-mute-for-a-few-minutes-okay'?"

Guy scoffs. "I can totally kick your ass at Halo."

"Mom, you need us?"

Their mother waves them away from the dining area and towards the living room. "Out of my way," she orders. "You just take up space."

"Hey," Mace argues, "I know how to cook."

"Of course you do, honey," she replies, a smile in her voice. "Of course you do."

"Ouch," Guy mutters as they sit on the couch, and Mace powers on the Xbox. "I don't remember Mom being so…"

"Wiseass?" Mace fills in.

"Yeah."

Mace doesn't say anything for a second as they choose characters. "She couldn't be a lot of things for a long time," he finally responds. "Not with dad around."

"Yeah. I get that."

Mace shakes his head like he's trying to get water out of his hair. "Let's not talk about dad right now. I want to be in a good mood when your date shows up."

"He is not—"

"Date." Mace interrupts. "Date. Date. Date."

Guy clubs him with a pillow as the phone rings. He goes still long enough for Mace to laugh at him, but he's up and grabbing the phone before the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Guy?"

"Yeah."

"Hey. It's Kyle."

Guy can't tell from his tone whether Kyle's calling to cancel. He decides to try for neutral. "Hey. What's up?"

"My mom got home a little early, and she said she'd like to come for dinner, so we should be there in half an hour or so."

"Okay. Cool."

"And she said to tell your mom that we'll bring dessert."

"Okay." Guy can't find any other words for a few seconds. "So…see you in a little bit."

"Yeah." Kyle breathes in directly against the receiver. "Yeah. See you. Bye."

"Bye." Guy hangs up the phone and looks up to find his mother and Mace both hovering over him. "They're coming," he says, and they both beam. "They'll be here in half an hour."

"Oh, good!" His mother says, and something like relief flashes across her face. "I'll start the water boiling."

"Come on," Mace says, steering Guy back into the living room. "I'll keep you distracted until they get here."

They play five fights. Guy loses the first four to the jitters he won't admit to having but Mace teases him about anyway, and he wins the fifth so he can shove it down Mace's throat.

"Say I'm better at playing Ivy than you!" Guy demands.

"Sure," Mace agrees. "You're better at playing a girl than me."

Guy brushes him off. "You're just pissed because you know if I was actually trying, I'd—" A knock on the door interrupts him, and Guy whips his head towards the sound.

"So lame," Mace mutters as he stands up and answers the door. Kyle is standing in the hallway holding a bakery box, a middle-aged woman with his same face shape and eyes standing behind him. "Hi, Kyle," Mace greets. "And this must be your mother." He holds out his hand. "Mace Gardner. I'm Guy's older brother."

"I'm Maura," Kyle's mom introduces herself.

Guy pushes himself up off the couch and walks over, takes a moment to try and surpetiously wipe his sweating palms on his jeans. "I'm Guy," he says to Kyle's mom. He glances at Kyle. "Hey."

"Hi," Kyle replies. He looks from Guy to his mother to Mace.

"Come on in," Mace says, stepping to the side and throwing Guy a look that calls him an idiot. Guy tries to find something else to say, but his mother bustles into the room before he can come up with anything.

"Hello, I'm Peggy."

"Maura."

"It's so nice to meet you." Guy's mother smiles at Maura and then at Kyle. "And you're Kyle."

"Yes, ma'am."

Guy catches Kyle wiping his own palm on his jeans and his nervousness disappears. "Mom made spaghetti," he says, "and garlic bread. She makes great garlic bread."

"And a salad," his mother adds, "just so we can call dinner somewhat healthy."

Kyle's mother laughs and takes the bakery box from Kyle's hands. "Well, we'll cancel it out, I think. We brought chocolate cake. I figure if you throw in a little milk, it'll blend into something like a shake for Guy."

"That's very thoughtful," Guy's mom says, and she looks like she might cry.

"Is that from the Ninth Street Bakery?" Mace asks hurriedly. "Their stuff is amazing."

"It's one of our favorite places," Kyle's mom responds, and she, Mace, and Guy's mother walk towards the kitchen.

Guy tries to grin at Kyle, but he's certain he just looks creepy with the wires in his mouth. "Hey. Glad you could hang out."

"Yeah," Kyle replies. "Me, too." He slides his hands into his pockets, takes them out again. "You still coming back to school on Monday?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"Come sit down, boys," Guy's mother orders. "Let's eat before the pasta gets cold."

Mace sits at the head of the table. The mothers are already seated on one side, so Kyle and Guy sit next to each other on the other side. Guy's mother spoons out the pasta and sauce before Mace passes the salad and bread. Guy eyes it all with envy as he slurps at his protein shake.

"Do those suck?" Kyle asks as he twirls spaghetti on his fork.

"They're okay. They're just boring."

"I remember when I had my wisdom teeth out," Kyle's mom says, "and I spent three days on pudding and Jell-O and mashed potatoes. I thought it was going to be great, you know? I still can't handle Jell-O."

"The academy always served green beans," Mace says. "I think they got a special on them or something. But it was four months of green beans. I won't even keep them in the apartment now."

"My mother always served Hominy," Guy's mother adds. "I always thought it tasted like a big collection of nothing."

Guy glances at Kyle as Mace and the mothers continue the list of foods they won't eat. "They are so lame," he says in an undertone, and Kyle nearly chokes on his salad.

Kyle washes down his salad with a drink of water. "Your face looks better," he says. "Does it still hurt?"

"Sometimes. I'm still on a bunch of pills for it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. They suck. I just get tired or my face goes numb like at the dentist."

Kyle pulls a face. "I hate that. I always spend the rest of the day thinking I'm gonna bite off my tongue or something."

"Yeah. Like that." Guy grins as he takes another drink of his shake. He watches Kyle out of the corner of his eye, glances around the table and sees that Mace and the mothers are still in conversation. "Hey," he says, and Kyle looks over as he slurps a noodle. "When do you have art class?"

"Tuesdays and Thursdays. I go right after seventh period. Why?"

"I was just…" Guy feels suddenly tongue-tied, Kyle watching him with interest. "I didn't know," he says. "You mentioned it, but I didn't ask you when you went, and I just…wanted to know." Kyle's still looking at him, confusion making his brow crease. "You know," Guy continues. "If we wanted to hang out or something."

"Oh." Kyle smiles, looks at his plate and pushes around his spaghetti. "Cool. Yeah. I'd like that."

Guy feels Mace tap his foot. He glances over, and Mace gives him a grin. Guy gives him a one-shoulder shrug and finishes his shake.

"Do you want another?" his mother asks him.

"I've got it," Guy says and stands up.

"What's in one of those?" Kyle asks.

"I dunno. I think they're just basically protein powder and yogurt and stuff."

"Show him the powder," Mace says. "The color is ridiculous."

Guy slants Mace a look. The powder's not that weird looking. "It's—"

"In the cupboard to the right of the sink," Mace interrupts.

Kyle stands up, and Guy follows, still wondering what Mace is doing. "It's not that interesting," he says in an undertone as Mace starts telling a loud story at the table. "It's just green." He pulls the jar of powder from the cupboard and unscrews the lid, moving to the side so Kyle can see it.

"Wow," Kyle says, "that's really green."

Guy glances into the jar. "Huh," he says. "Guess I’m used to it." The powder is neon green, nearly glowing in the light. "And it tastes like crap, too," he adds.

Kyle laughs. "Yeah?"

"It's pretty terrible. But it's got all the vitamins and stuff I'm supposed to have as long as I drink like six of them a day."

"Six? That's gotta get boring."

"I can have other stuff." Guy measures out the powder in the blender, adds some yogurt and milk, throws in some fruit he'd chopped earlier in the day. "It basically tastes like a smoothie as long as you put enough crap in it." He looks down to turn on the blender. When he looks up, Kyle's nose is nearly touching his. "Um…"

"You're coming back to school Monday?" Kyle asks, his voice barely carrying over the whirring of the blender.

"Yeah," Guy responds. Over Kyle's shoulder, Mace is still telling his story, the mothers listening intently, neither of them looking towards the kitchen. It suddenly clicks in Guy's mind. "Oh."

"Huh?"

Guy licks his lips, leans in, and pecks Kyle on the mouth. He tries to think of something to say as he pushes the 'Off' button to stop the blender. "I…um…was that okay?"

Kyle looks down at the floor. His cheeks are flushed. "Yeah," he says. "That was okay."

Guy pours his shake into his glass, stirs it a little with his straw. "I don't know if I'm gonna be…out…at school, but I wanna…" He doesn't know how to finish. "I want—"

"Yeah," Kyle stops him. "I get you."

"Yeah?"

"We can be friends," Kyle says. "We don't have to be, you know, the gay coalition or anything to hang out. Just, you know, don't be a dick."

Guy laughs a little. "Okay," he agrees. "Do you wanna…I mean, I won't be…out…but we could, you know. Hang out. And stuff."

Kyle's flush blooms again. "Yeah. That'd be—You mean…" He bites his lip, and Guy reaches out, touches his fingers to Kyle's hand.

"Yeah," Guy says. "If that's not weird. I want to…hang out, you know."

"Okay," Kyle replies, and he grins. "I'm okay with that."

"Yeah? I don't want you to think I'm—"

"It's weird," Kyle interrupts. "Coming out at school. Just, acknowledge me, and we'll…do the other stuff if we want."

"Okay," Guy agrees. "Yeah." He glances over again. Mace's story is winding down. "Man, I owe him so big."

Kyle glances over his shoulder at Mace. "Yeah? He seems cool."

Guy shrugs. "He's all right."

They walk back over to the table and sit down again, Guy drinking his second shake more slowly than the first while Kyle cleans his plate and goes for extra garlic bread. Guy's dessert shake actually tastes really good, and he has to keep fighting off Mace and Kyle so he can finish it himself.

"You have cake," he grumbles as they both try to steal his glass again.

"Yeah, but that tastes really good," Mace argues.

"We have a blender," their mother says. "I've seen you use it."

"Falsehood!" Mace says so dramatically that they all burst out laughing.

Kyle manages to steal a sip, sputtering when Guy elbows him in the ribs. "Hey!"

"My. Milkshake." Guy states, wrapping both hands around his glass. "Get your own."

"Or eat the perfectly good cake on your plates," Kyle's mother interjects.

"All right, all right," Mace says standing up, "I'll man the blender. Who else wants their cake liquefied?"

Kyle and the mothers hand over their plates as Guy gloats by taking a long drink of his shake. "We'll have to have you over soon," Kyle's mother tells Guy's mother. "This has been a great evening."

"We'd like that," Guy's mother replies. "It's been good for us, too."

Guy glances at Kyle, who's glancing at him. They both look away. "Totally beats sleeping," Guy says.

"Or studying," Kyle adds.

"Or getting your ass beat at Soul Caliber over and over and over again," Mace says and drowns out Guy's protests by starting the blender.

"We'll have you over." Kyle's mom shouts over the blender. "In a couple of weeks when Guy's back in the swing of things."

"Perfect," Guy's mother says and smiles wider than Guy's ever seen her smile, he thinks. "We'll  
bring the blender."


	12. Chapter 12

Saturday and Sunday slide past Guy in a wave of homework, headaches, and more homework. His mother and Mace offer to help, to read to him or type his papers, but Guy waves them off. "I've got it."

"You don't need to push yourself this hard, honey," his mother says. "We can help."

I don't want help, Guy thinks. "I'm gonna have to pay attention all day at school," he tells her. "That's probably going to give me headaches, too."

She looks like she wants to argue, but she rubs his shoulders, instead and gives Mace a hard look when he tries to argue.

Kyle calls him Sunday night as he's finializing his history paper for Mr. Jordan. "I was gonna see if you want to sit together at lunch," Kyle sounds like someone's daring him to ask. "I mean, if you don't want to sit with the guys you usually sit with."

Guy almost offers Kyle a seat at his usual table, but then he thinks about Tommy and the other boys and how they'd react to a well-known fag at their table. "I've got English fourth hour with Mr. Breeon."

"Up in 240?"

"Yeah."

"I've got Chem with Mr. Mogo down the hall. I can meet you in the hallway, if you want."

"Okay," Guy agrees. He considers asking Kyle to meet him out front before school the next day, but it feels desperate. "Cool."

"See you tomorrow," Kyle says and hangs up.

"You okay for tomorrow?" Mace asks Guy later that night. "You need anything?"

Guy thinks about his homework and his pills and having to talk to people tomorrow who think they know everything that's happened to him. "I'm okay," he says.

"I'll give you a ride in tomorrow," Mace offers. "I don't go on until nine."

"In your cop car?"

"Yeah."

"Sure," Guy agrees because he's pretty sure there's no way he can be inconspicuous going back to school. "But you don't get to stick me in the back."

He goes to bed convinced he won't sleep, mind to stirred up with the possibilities of the next day, of the questions people might ask, of the questions they might not. He falls asleep, he thinks, mostly due to the painkillers he's still taking. When he wakes up the next morning, it's to the sound of the blender and the sounds of the shower.

"Feeling okay?" his mother asks as she hands him his breakfast shake.

"I'm okay." Guy watches her watch him. "I'm a little freaked," he admits in an undertone like he used to when his dad was in the house. "I don't want people thinking I'm…" He doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

"Come here." She pulls him into a hug, kisses the top of his head. "People will say anything, and they'll say it twice as loud if they've got a rumor to back it up. You just…you choose which things to hear, okay? You choose what's worth correcting."

This was her life, Guy thinks as he nods and pulls away, for years and years, his mother's life was deciding what rumors about her were worth correcting. He wants to ask her questions about what to answer and how, and he has a sudden ache to know how she put up with it for so long when just this single day is terrifying him a little.

"Here," his mother says, handing him a thermos. "That should be enough to get you through the day. Do you have your note from the doctor to show your teachers that you can drink in class?"

"Yeah."

"Your homework?"

"Yeah."

"All right." She presses her palms lightly against his cheeks. "If you get to feeling tired, you call me at work, okay? I can come get you."

"Okay," Guy tells her, but he knows he won't call. If he leaves, the rumors will only get worse. "I love you, Mom."

She beams at him, smoothes his hair. "I love you, too."

Mace walks into the kitchen, uniform on, hat tucked under his arm. His hair is still damp from the shower but neatly combed away from his face. He nudges Guy with his shoulder and kisses their mother on the cheek. "Need anything today?" he asks her. "I can run by the store on my way home."

"We're fine," she says and hands him a thermos of his own. "Coffee."

"Thanks, Mom." Mace gestures to Guy. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Guy grabs his backpack from the chair, slings it over his shoulder. "Bye, Mom."

"Bye, you two."

Mace doesn't say anything to him until they're in the elevator. "Anyone gives you shit," he says, "call me, okay?"

"They'll just give me more shit for calling you," Guy points out.

Mace concedes the point with a shrug. "You nervous?"

Scared, Guy thinks, but he doesn't want to say it aloud. "I'm okay." He glances at Mace as they get off the elevator. "I'm having lunch with Kyle."

"All right," Mace grins at him. "That's good."

"Yeah," Guy agrees. "It's okay."

"Okay," Mace scoffs, but he doesn't push.

They ride to the school in silence, save Mace's police radio squawking intermittently. When Mace pulls up to the front doors, it takes Guy a second to put his hand on the door. "That Kyle?" Mace asks, leaning to see out Guy's window.

Guy follows his line of sight. "Yeah," he says when he spots Kyle standing a few feet from the doors, hands in his pockets. "I didn't know he'd be waiting."

"Isn't that cute?" Mace simpers, and he laughs when Guy shoves him away. "Sorry. But seriously, if he's waiting for you and you didn't ask, he's probably an okay guy."

"Yeah."

"And I’m so calling Mom and telling her about this."

"No!"

"I have to. She's fucking freaked about sending you back today. She's worried the stress will make you snap or something."

He thought he'd been hiding it well. "Oh," is all he says.

Mace pokes him in the side. " Get out of my car. I've got to get to work."

"Thanks," Guy says over his shoulder as he opens the door.

"See you tonight," Mace replies, and he pulls out of the lot as soon as Guy shuts the door and steps away.

Kyle grins when he spots Guy watching him. "Hey," he says.

"Hey. Are you…" There is no way to ask that question, Guy thinks, without sounding like a complete girl.

Kyle looks down at his feet. "Kinda. Yeah. I figured it probably kinda sucks to be coming back when everyone's saying shit, so I thought, you know…"

"Thanks," Guy mutters, and he tries to grin when Kyle looks at him. "It's…it's a little fucked up."

Kyle hitches his bag higher on his shoulder and shrugs. "I know what it's like to be the weird guy."

It takes Guy a second to realize Kyle's talking about when he came out. "Oh," he says. He doesn't know how to ask about it, and they're walking in the front doors of the school before he can figure it out.

The main hall is filled with students, everyone talking over one another, lockers slamming open and closed. Guy squints against the noise, grimaces when someone presses past him, knocking him in the shoulder.

"You all right?" Kyle asks, grabbing Guy by the elbow and pulling him towards the left-side wall where the crowd is a little thinner.

"The noise kinda bothers my head." Guy closes his eyes and rubs the back of his neck. When he opens his eyes again, he catches a girl staring. She turns away, whispers something to a guy standing next to her, and then he's staring. "Shit."

"We can go to the nurse's office, if you need—"

"No," Guy interrupts. "It's…" It sucks, he thinks, but he can't back down. He can't hide. "I'm gonna go to my locker," he says. "I gotta drop off some books."

"I can come with," Kyle offers. "If you want."

Guy's tempted to tell him no, tell him to stay away from him if he doesn’t want to be the weird kid again. "Okay," he says instead, because the bubble of people around him who are trying not to stare is getting larger, and Kyle doesn't seem to be phased by any of it. "I'm around the corner."

They walk to Guy's locker in silence. Kyle leans on the locker next to his while Guy works his combination. "They'll get over it," he says. "Hell, they stopped staring at me eventually, and I'm a big, scary homo."

That makes Guy grin. Kyle's pretty tall, but he's thin, and he's too nice to be really scary, Guy thinks. "Yeah," he replies, "you're a big threat."

"Just because you hang out with a bunch of over-muscled giants doesn't mean I'm small," Kyle tells him. "We wiry guys are sneaky."

Guy pulls the books for his afternoon classes out of his backpack and tosses them into his locker. "Whatever you say, man," he says. "I can still tackle your skinny ass."

"I didn't say you couldn't. I said it'd be hard."

Guy breaks a grin at that, turning his head a little to let Kyle see it. "Dude, I've been trained by Coach Kilowog. It wouldn't be that hard."

Kyle laughs as the first bell rings. He pushes off the locker and taps Guy's shoulder with his closed fist. "I gotta get across the building. I'll see you after fourth."

"Yeah," Guy agrees, and he looks away as Kyle walks away to dig in his locker for his extra notebook.

First hour is tense. Guy's calc teacher doesn't let him answer any questions and admonishes him for having so much of his homework finished. "You should be resting," she says in front of the whole class, and Guy's certain that he's going to die of embarrassment.

Second hour, his English teacher doesn't treat him any differently, but when she calls on him, the rest of the class stares while he talks. It's not the fake-interested staring that everyone uses in class. They're staring at his mouth, at the last of the bruises on his face, and when his teacher turns his back, he can see the notes getting passed around.

Third hour is his word processing class, and Guy has never been so happy that Mr. Stel prefers to lecture and have them type rather than have them have long discussions. The only thing Mr. Stel does differently than usual is nod when Guy pulls out his thermos and steps into the hall to drink down the next portion of his shake. Guy can still feel the stares in the room, but he has to stare at his computer and type. By the end of the hour, he has a headache pounding behind his eyes, and he can feel the frayed edges on his temper like they're real.

He could go to the nurse's office for his headache, Guy thinks. Hide away fourth hour while lying on a cot and giving his head a rest, but if he hides in fourth hour, he'll have to get a hall pass from the nurse for Mr. Jordan in fifth, and Mr. Jordan's out to get him, he thinks. Mr. Jordan always pushes him like he expects Guy to know everything at any moment. He can't look weak in front of Mr. Jordan.

Guy digs in his backpack for aspirin and throws back three with a drink from the water fountain. He pauses for a few seconds outside of Mr. Mogo's room, adjusting his backpack to give himself cover as he psychs himself up.

"Hey."

  
Guy turns, eyes widening at the sight of Kyle coming up the hall. "Hey."

"Third hour sucked," Kyle says. "Pop quiz in Geometry."

Guy pulls a face. "I took it last year. Mr. Stewart's really into those."

"I think I did okay."

"Cool." Guy doesn't know what else to say and waits for Kyle to say something else. When he doesn't, Guy adjust his backpack and bites back a sigh. "All right," he says. "I have to go to Chem."

"Did you ever notice what a slow talker Mr. Mogo is?" Kyle asks, and he grins when Guy barks a laugh. "Don't tell him I said that. He'll probably find out anyway. I think he's got some super-secret monitoring system to hear everything that's said about him."

"Fuck, I know," Guy agrees. He looks at his watch. "Okay, I'm going in."

"See you after," Kyle calls over his shoulder as he half-jogs down the hall.

Guy doesn't reply, just ducks into Mr. Mogo's room and takes his usual seat in the third row. Mr. Mogo walks in as the bell rings, moving nearly as slowly as he talks. Guy nearly falls asleep halfway through class and has to force himself to stay awake until the bell rings.

When he stands up to leave, he manages to kick over his backpack. "Shit," he mutters, and glances up to see if Mr. Mogo heard him.

"Go to lunch, Mr. Gardner," Mr. Mogo says. "I'm not in the mood to socialize."

Guy gathers his strewn pencils and scattered books and hurries out of the room. Kyle's waiting like he said he would, and he grins when he sees Guy.

"How was it?" Kyle asks, speaking at the same pace as Mr. Mogo.

"Almost fell asleep," Guy admits, "and then I spilled my shit everywhere."

Kyle laughs. "Dide he tell you to get out because he not in the mood to socialize?"

"Yeah."

"Man, when I graduate, I'm gonna paint that on his back wall." Kyle spreads his hands like he's mapping out a space for the words. "I'm not in the mood to socialize," he says, speaking slowly again.

"I'll hold the ladder," Guy offers, and he feels himself grinning, sharing the joke with Kyle. "Today has fucking sucked," Guy confides in him as they walk down the empty halls to the cafeteria. "Everybody's staring and passing notes and whispering."

"Some guy in my second hour class was asking about you," Kyle tells him. "I don't think we've ever talked, and he just started asking questions."

Guy doesn't want to ask what Kyle said. "Yeah?"

"I told him if he was so interested, he should just ask you. Told him you were a nice guy."

"And I will be," Guy agrees. "Until I rip out his spleen."

Kyle's smile fades into a sympathetic frown. "I get it," he says. "I mean, I get the feeling you're talking about. When I came out, I got three or four weeks of stares and shit. Just wait until the rumors start, then you really find out what people think about you." The frown fades into a glare before fading off his face all together.

Guy wants to tell him how badly he wanted to go to the nurse's office, how he wanted to hide from it all. "What kind of rumors?" he asks.

"Bad ones," Kyle says, and his expression is closed off, his jaw tight. "Just…bullshit mean stuff."

Guy remembers a few of the rumors, but he doesn't tell that to Kyle. "People suck," he says.

"Yeah," Kyle agrees. "Sometimes."

The cafeteria is a combination of talking people, clattering trays, and the pungent combination of heavy disinfectant and stale food smells. Kyle gets in line to get his lunch while Guy sits at an empty table and pulls his thermos from his bag. He hears whispering around him and makes himself concentrate on his thermos, unscrewing the lid and digging a fresh straw out of his backpack. He takes measured sips, doesn't look around to see who's staring. He wonders what they're saying, wonders if he'll make it to the end of the day without hiding out or hitting someone.

"Here," Kyle says as he sits on the bench next to Guy and sets down a carton of milk, "thought you could use something that doesn't look like it tastes like crud."

Guy almost tells Kyle to shove his charity, but Kyle's grinning, open and comfortable, and Guy checks his impulse, glances at his protein shake, which is beige and looks grainy, and grabs the carton of milk. "Thanks."

Kyle cuts into his Salisbury steak. "Should have brought my lunch," he says. "This stuff tastes like crap."

"I have to drink these for another three weeks, at least. I'll trade you."

Kyle eats the bite on his fork. "It tastes okay. For school food."

Guy starts to reply, but he gets a sudden spike of tension up his spine and freezes in place, trying to place it. Someone's watching him, he thinks. Someone behind him is about to make a move on him. He thinks of his father, thinks of turning around and meeting a glare and an open palm across his face. His dad always hit open-handed first.

"Guy?" Kyle asks. "You okay?"

Turn around, Guy dares himself like he always did with his dad. Turn around and face it. "Someone's about to start shit," he says.

Kyle squints at him. "What? How do you know?"

"I just know." Guy pushes his thermos away from him and turns around. Tommy's walking towards him, a football player flanking him on either side. "Shit," Guy mutters. He may not consider Tommy a friend now, but he's known him long enough he can read his face. Tommy is definitely coming over to start shit.

"Kyle—" Guy starts, but he doesn't know what to say. Run, he thinks, but one of the other guys will probably be able to grab him. "Shit." He says again to say something.

"What?" Kyle asks, and Guy feels him turning as the bench shifts. "Shit." Kyle says when he realizes what Guy's looking at.

"Dude!" Tommy practically yells, and everyone within three tables turns towards the noise. Most of them look away again, but a few people keep watching. "What are you doing over here?" He glances at Kyle, sneering. "We saved you a seat."

"I'm good," Guy replies, tone blank.

Tommy turns his sneer to Guy. "You make friends while you were out, dude?"

Guy considers how to answer. If he doesn't answer, Tommy will keep bothering him. If he gives a bland answer, Tommy will either keep baiting him or decide it's not worth the trouble. If he smarts off, Tommy will most likely throw a punch. If he smarts off, the whole thing could be over in a couple of minutes.

The bench squeaks, and Kyle stands up, picking up his tray. "I'll see you later, Guy," he says.

One of Tommy's minions blocks his exit. "You gonna abandon your boyfriend?"

The fear running through Guy gets sliced through with anger. He opens his mouth to say something, but Kyle speaks before Guy can take in a breath.

"When I have one, no."

Tommy's minion blinks. Guy laughs without meaning to, and Tommy's sneer drops into a cold glare. "Nice bruises," he says to Guy. "Your dad did a pretty good job, but I can still see where I hit you."

"I can't see where I hit you," Guy replies, "but you were always ugly, so it's harder to tell." Tommy's hands clench into fists, and Guy shifts his weight so he can jump out of the way when Tommy charges. "Asshole," he says to the minion blocking Kyle. "Get away from my boyfriend." He leaps forward as Tommy runs at him, and he catches Tommy in the stomach with his elbow.

Tommy doubles over, but he manages to club Guy in the ribs. Guy curses and yanks Tommy up by his hair, throwing him onto the table. Tommy rolls over the tabletop and lands on the bench on the other side. Guy picks up his thermos, jumps on the table, and upends his thermos over Tommy's face.

"Stay the hell away from me," Guy growls at Tommy.

"Fag." Tommy spits out, particles of Guy's shake shooting from his mouth. "Fucking fag."

Kyle, Guy thinks as Tommy continues swearing at him, and he turns on his heel just in time to see Kyle slam his tray against the side of Tommy's minion's face. The other minion steps forward, but Guy throws the thermos, deliberately missing the guy by six inches. It stops the guy in his tracks, but before Guy can jump off the table and knock him down, he spots Coach Kilowog crossing the room with Mr. Jordan and Mr. Stewart.

"Fuck."

"Gardner," Coach barks, "back off."

"Tommy—"

"Back. Off." Coach stares him down until Guy unclenches his fists. "Rayner." Coach looks away from Guy when Kyle doesn't answer. Guy follows him gaze. Kyle is standing over Tommy's minion, one hand still clutching his tray. He's breathing hard. "RAYNER!"

Kyle head whips around to look at them, the tray clattering from his hand. "What? I wasn't—he was—"

"Take Guy to the nurse's office, get him checked over."

"I'm fine," Guy says.

"It wasn't a request, Gardner. Get going."

Guy breathes in to argue, but he notices the way Kyle's paling. "Yes, Coach," he agrees, and he steps down from the table, walking over to Kyle. "C'mon." He wraps his fingers over Kyle's shoulder. Kyle follows along beside him, head down, stopping only to grab his backpack and hand Guy his.

"Nice work," Mr. Stewart says under his breath when they pass. When Guy glances up at him, Mr. Stewart smirks at him. "Keep moving," he says in a normal speaking voice. "Before Mr. Jordan and I decide to override Coach's decision to send you to the nurse."

"Yes, Sir," Guy mumbles, and he picks up his pace, Kyle keeping up as they leave the cafeteria and turn down the hallway to the nurse's office. Kyle stops short ten steps from the door, and Guy nearly falls over.

"I just hit a guy with a lunch tray," Kyle says. He blinks, shakes his head, looks at Guy. "I've never hit anyone in my life."

Guy doesn't know what to say to that. "You gonna freak?" he asks finally.

"I…I don't think so." Kyle looks down at his hands, back at Guy. "You looked like you knew what you were doing." Kyle's eyes widen. "I didn't mean—"

"Don't," Guy cuts him off. "It's not what you think. I mean, some of it is because of my dad being an asshole, but Mace and I used to wrestle around, and he'd teach me stuff."

"I—you're…" Kyle shakes his head and scrubs his hands over his head. The slightly glazed look in Kyle's eyes disappears. "You called me your boyfriend."

"Yeah." Guy can't look Kyle in the eyes. He looks over his shoulder, into the window of the empty classroom behind him. "I was—"

"Gardner."

Guy and Kyle both turn to find Coach Kilowog walking towards them. "Coach, I—"

"Rayner, it looks like you scraped your knuckles. Get the nurse to look at them. I need a minute with Gardner."

"Yes, Sir," Kyle says and steps away from Guy, Guy's hand falling from his shoulder. He gives Guy a little smile before ducking into the nurse's office.

"Sit, Gardner."

Guy slides down the wall without arguing, watches in amazement as Coach slides down next to him like he's not a huge guy. "I didn't—"

"I know you, Gardner," Coach interrupts. "I've seen you play ball for a couple of years, and I've seen you in gym class. I know what you look like when you lose your temper."

"Coach—"

"And you didn't lose it in the cafeteria." Coach looks at him, eyes narrowing. "I saw and heard the whole thing, Gardner. That was a calculated attack."

Guy scrapes his fingernails over the knees of his jeans. "I just wanted him off my back. Tommy's an asshole."

"Language."

"Sorry, Coach." Guy swallows. "They're just…they're a bunch of bullies, and they think they're hot shit—"

"Language."

"Sorry. And I'm just tired of it." Guy looks at Coach. "It's not right. Just because…"

"You called Rayner your boyfriend," Coach says. He doesn't put weight on it, but he's watching Guy closely. "I thought you'd just started hanging out."

"We have. It's just…I was…" Guy's not sure how to explain it. He had said it to antagonize Tommy, but he thinks he meant it a little. "Kyle and me have—he's a nice guy."

"I've heard nothing but good things," Coach agrees. "But if you're gonna make declarations, Poozer, you should make them when you're not trying to get punched in the face."

Guy breathes in slowly. "Yeah."

Coach doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Guy closes his eyes and lets the silence relax him. "You're not in trouble," Coach finally says, "but just barely. If you'd hit Tommy with your thermos rather than dump that goo on him," and Coach pauses to make a sound that could almost be a laugh, "you'd be written up, but Mr. Jordan, Mr. Stewart, and I think it's best if Tommy and his cohorts take this one on the chin."

"Thanks." Guy says, opening his eyes.

"But next time, take some of the willpower that kept you from pummeling the weasel and use it to keep from hitting him at all, all right? I know self-defense is self-defense, but there's a line, and you're about to throw yourself over it."

"Yes, Coach."

"Good man." Coach gets to his feet in one smooth motion. He holds out his hand and hauls Guy up after him. "Tell the nurse I okayed late passes for the both of you. Tommy's suspended from playing for the next three weeks, but he's gonna be on the bench. Don't talk to him. Don't look at him. I need him for anything, I'll be giving him the orders, okay?"

"Yes, Coach." Guy waits for him to turn and walk down the hall before he walks into the office. The end of lunch bell rings as the door closes behind him. Kyle is sitting on the edge of a cot, the nurse putting bandages on two of his knuckles. "Coach Killowog says we can get late passes from you for fifth."

"As soon as I check you over," the nurse replies, and she points to the cot on the other side of the room. "Did you get hit in the face?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Where were you hit?"

"He got me in the ribs."

"Shirt."

Guy lifts it without arguing. Kyle catches his eye as the nurse ducks to press her fingers against Guy's ribcage. Kyle pulls a face—an exaggerated pout with wide eyes and flared nostrils—and Guy has to swallow back a laugh.

"Hold still," the nurse snaps.

Guy glares at Kyle. Kyle sticks his thumbs in his ears and waves his fingers at Guy. Guy snickers. The nurse backs away and raises an eyebrow.

"Any pain when you laughed?"

"No, Ma'am."

"You're fine." She walks to her desk, pulls out a pad of late passes, and signs her name to the bottom of two slips. "Go to class." She looks at Guy's face for a long moment, gaze lingering on his jaw line. "And be careful," she says. It's not quite harsh enough to be an order. Guy wonders how many fucked up kids she's worried about over the years.

"Thank you," Kyle tells her. He shoulders his backpack and leads the way out of the office. The nurse's exam took long enough that the hallway is just as empty as it was before the bell rang. Kyle stops at the first turn off the hallway. "I've got class this way," he says with a loose gesture.

"Okay," Guy says. He doesn't step away and neither does Kyle. "I'm at the end of the hall," Guy tells him, jerking his head in the direction they were already travelling.

"I…" Kyle adjusts his backpack. "I'll see you in gym."

"Okay," Guy agrees, and he rocks back on his heels before walking off. "See you later," he calls over his shoulder.

"Yeah, later," Kyle calls from behind him.

Mr. Jordan takes the late pass with a nod, and Guy takes his usual seat in the third row without saying a word.

"Mr. Gardner," Mr. Jordan says as he picks up a dry erase marker, and Guy has to will himself to sit completely still when the entire class turns to stare at him. "Good to see you back. See me after class so I can check the progress on your make-up work."

"Yes, Sir," Guy manages to grit out. Everyone's still staring.

"Eyes front," Mr. Jordan orders. "Mr. Gardner isn't a zoo exhibit, and I’m not a zookeeper. I catch anyone staring or giggling or passing notes, it's detention."

Guy thinks his jaw would be gaping if he could actually move it. Mr. Jordan doesn't look at him at all, just starts writing notes on the board. Class goes by as it usually goes by. A few people sneak peeks at him, but no one outright stares, and Guy keeps his eyes on his notes and on Mr. Jordan and feels almost normal.

When the bell rings, Guy walks up to Mr. Jordan's lectern and hands him a stack of papers. Mr. Jordan takes the papers and flips through them, nodding approvingly. "Good work, Mr. Gardner," he says. "This looks like everything."

"It is everything," Guy says, and his usual annoyance with Mr. Jordan flares up. Did he think he wouldn't do his homework?

"I've had a few injured students in my time. Most of the time, they need a couple of weeks to catch up."

"Well, I didn't," Guy says, and he can hear the anger underlying his tone. "I can do homework with my jaw wired shut. It's not that hard."

Mr. Jordan grins. "I know. That's why I push you."

"What?"

Mr. Jordan waves him off. "Get to class, Mr. Gardner." He holds up the stack of papers. "Thanks for these. I'll get them back to you next week."

Guy wants to demand Mr. Jordan explain himself, but Mr. Jordan is turning away, and Guy knows he won't get an answer. He clenches his hands into fists and walks out of the room, shooting a glare over his shoulder as he walks to his next class. Mr. Jordan is such a dick.

People steal glances at Guy through his entire sixth hour. He hears a few whispers—"Tommy," and "fight" and "kicked his ass" and "with a tray"—and he makes note of them to tell Kyle later. To tell him that he's probably getting talked about more than Guy is now.

Coach nods at him when he walks into the gym for seventh period. "Go ahead and dress out," Coach tells him. "You're not playing today, but I'm putting you to work."

Guy nods in agreement as he opens the door to the lockerroom. When he gets to the bottom of the stairs and turns towards the changing area, no one notices. As he walks to his usual locker, the conversations start dropping off. By the time he opens his locker, it's dead silent. Don't look, he thinks. Don't let them see you squirm.

"Hey, Guy." It's Vath. He steps around a couple of silent people and leans on the locker next to Guy's. He whistles at the sight of Guy's face. "Man, you look like hell."

"It looked a lot worse a week ago," Guy answers automatically.

"I'll bet." Vath looks around the room. "What?" he asks the room at large. "Isamot can try to kick my ass every other day, and you all cheer us on, but Guy kicking some serious ass in the cafeteria makes you all scared?" Vath looks at Isamot. "Told you you weren't scary."

"Blow me," Isamot replies, and Vath hops over the bench to try and tackle him. Their scuffle breaks the silence in the room, and everyone starts talking again. Guy considers telling them to knock it off, but Isamot doesn't actually look like he's trying to hurt Vath, so he figures it's okay. He pulls off his shirt, and once he manuvers it over his head, he sees that Kyle has walked in.

"Hey," Kyle says to Guy, not quite looking at him.

"Hey," Guy replies, and he looks away before Kyle can take off his shirt.

"Poozers!" Coach Kilowog yells from the top of the stairs, "Everybody but Rayner's late for roll call, unless all of you have notes from your sixth period teachers."

Guy curses under his breath, toes off his sneakers and shucks his jeans as the rest of the guys—minus Kyle—thunder up the stairs. He starts to yank his gym T-shirt over his head and manages to hit himself in the jaw with his arm. "Fuck," he says as he sits down on the bench. His jaw throbs, and he sees stars for a second. He wrestles his T-shirt on the rest of the way, and when he gets it over his head, he sees Kyle watching him. "Hit my jaw," he says.

"Yeah, I…I saw."

Guy looks away to stand up and pull on his shorts. He sits down to put his shoes, and when he looks over, he sees Kyle watching him.

"You—" Kyle starts, but the lockerroom door bangs open.

"Gardner, injured or not, get your butt up here!" Coach yells down.

"Later," Guy mutters to Kyle as he walks up the stairs.

"About time," Coach admonishes him when he comes out of the lockerroom. He hands Guy a clipboard and pen. "You're doing inventory."

"Inventory?" Guy repeats.

"Or you can sit on the bench and let everyone stare at you all hour," Coach offers. "I'm not picky." Guy flips through the papers on the clipboard and glances back at Coach with a shrug. Coach nods. "Good. Everything in the supply room is labeled. The number we should have is the left column. Write the actual number in the right column."

"Okay," Guy says and walks to the supply room.

"And leave the door open," Coach calls after him. "School policy."

"Okay," Guy says again as he opens the door to the supply room. The supply room is well-organized, balls and mats and other equipment sorted by type. Guy looks at the top of his list. Baseballs. He finds them and starts counting. He moves onto basketballs (separated into women's and men's) and then footballs. He's starting on kickballs when Coach walks into the room and gestures for the list.

"Looks good," he says when he reviews it. "Class it about over. Go ahead and get changed."

"Already?"

Coach grins. "Yes. Get going. And go straight home."

"What about practice? I thought I was team manager."

"You are," Coach assures him, "but you're not showing up today because you decided to punch out one of your teammates, and I want to talk to him about how you two are going to avoid each other before I put you near each other."

"I won't bug him if he leaves me alone," Guy says, aggravation scratching at his temper.

"I know that, Gardner, but Tommy's kind of an idiot." Coach grins and points his thumb out the door. "Get changed. Don't forget practice on Wednesday."

"Yes, Coach," Guy says and walks around him and towards the lockerroom. It's empty, and Guy sits on the bench, meaning to take off his shoes. When he leans over, he suddenly feels absolutely exhausted. He closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, he feels just as tired. He considers stretching out on the bench for a minute or two, but the door bangs at the top of the stairs, and he jerks upright, putting his left foot on the bench to unknot his shoelaces.

No one acts awkward around him as everyone changes back into street clothes. Isamot and Vath both tap his shoulder as they leave, hollering goodbye over their shoulders. Guy nods to acknowledge them but doesn't say anything, all his concentration and energy on getting changed. It feels like it takes twenty minutes before he's back in his street clothes, but when he looks up, there are still a few stragglers in the lockerrom. Get up, Guy tells himself. You've got to get up.

"Hey."

Guy looks over. Kyle's standing by his locker, dressed in his own street clothes with his backpack hanging from one hand. "What's up?" Guy asks, and he pushes himself off the bench.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

"You look tired."

"I'm okay." Guy reaches for his backpack and misses the handle when he grabs for it the first time. He gets his fingers around it the second time, heaves it onto his shoulders. "I think I just need to not be around people." He waves at Kyle as he moves to step around him. "I'll see you—"

"You called me your boyfriend," Kyle says, and it's a little loud, echoing off the lockers.

"I'm really—"

"No," Kyle interrupts, and there's something in his eyes. Stubbornness maybe, Guy thinks. Or anger. "I know your day's been shit, but I don't want to leave it hanging, okay?"

"Kyle—"

"You called me your boyfriend," Kyle repeats. "And I know you didn't mean it. I know you did it to piss off Tommy and his friends—"

"I—"

"And if you do it again, I'll punch you," Kyle continues. "I like hanging out with you, but you don't get to say stuff like that, okay? You don't get to say it unless it's true, and you don’t get to use it to piss people off."

Guy watches the anger build and fade from Kyle's eyes. "I didn't mean to," he says. "I didn't—"

"You did it," Kyle says. He sighs. "Look, I know you're still dealing with stuff, but I've got enough problems not getting the shit kicked out of me, okay? I don't need you starting shit by invoking my queerness."

"I'm sorry." Guy jams his hands into his pockets and stares down at his shoes. "Tommy was already saying stuff, and I just wanted him to swing at me and get it over with. I…" He looks up, and Kyle's watching him, face blank. "What if you were?" he asks.

Kyle narrows his eyes. "What?"

"What if you were…" Guy shrugs. "My boyfriend. What if you were?"

"No," Kyle says quickly. "No way. No."

"Why not? You like me. I like you. We've kissed!"

"And you used a relationship you said you weren't ready for to start a fight."

Guy can't find a response to that. "I'm sorry," he says again.

"Okay," Kyle replies. He scuffs his sneaker against the floor and takes a deep breath. "Wanna walk home together?" he asks.

"Aren't you pissed?"

Kyle shrugs. "A little. But you apologized. And I figure you'll be useful if Tommy's waiting at the edge of campus."

"He's at practice," Guy says.

"Well, you still apologized." Kyle leads the way up the stairs and then leads the way out of the gym. "It was a dick move," he says when they get off campus, "but I kinda get it."

"You do?"

"Sometimes you just want to get over with it," Kyle says. "Sometimes it's just easier to get it over with."

"Yeah."

"That's why I came out when I did, you know? I could have waited until after high school, or done it over a summer break so the whole school wouldn't find out all at once, but I just wanted to be out."

"I don’t like waiting for a fight to start," Guy says. "It was always the worst part, waiting for my dad to stop yelling and start throwing things or shoving us around. At least when he was hitting me, I knew it couldn't get worse."

They walk in silence for six blocks, and then Kyle reaches out and takes Guy's hand. He laces their fingers together and steps half a step closer. "You really want to be my boyfriend?"

"I think so." Guy tightens his grip on Kyle's hand when Kyle looks like he'll pull away. "I…I don't really know how to do this, okay? I've never dated anyone. People always seem to want to hang out at each other's houses. I couldn't really bring anyone home, so I just didn't."

"And you couldn't tell your dad," Kyle adds.

"That too." Guy sees a man and woman coming in the other direction staring at his and Kyle's hands. Guy opens his mouth to say something cutting but stops when the man and woman look at each other and smile. "Huh."

"The whole world isn't out to get you," Kyle says, and he sounds like he's teasing. "I mean, sure, there's Tommy, but he's an idiot."

Guy laughs at that. "Coach said the same thing today," he tells him. "He wouldn't let me go to practice today because he has to tell Tommy to leave me alone."

"Fucking useless," Kyle mutters, and then he's laughing too.

They walk the rest of the way to Kyle's building in silence, stopping at the bottom of the stoop and looking at one another for a minute. "I can meet you here tomorrow," Guy offers. "We could walk together."

Kyle looks down, but Guy sees the way his cheeks move. He's smiling. "Okay," he says. He moves to pull away his hand. "You don't have to, you know."

"Walk with you?"

"Yeah," Kyle says. "That." But Guy can tell it's not what he's talking about.

"I might suck at it," Guy tells him. "But I think we could get through a couple of dates before you realize I'm kind of fucked up."

Kyle looks at Guy's face, not meeting his eyes but looking at his bruises. "Yeah, I figured that already."

Guy shrugs. "There you go, then. That's what I've got."

Kyle's eyebrows furrow. "Got?"

"My dad's an abusive asshole; I think my mom's still kind of a wreck. I'm being forced to talk about shit I'd rather forget about with a shrink, and I've got to deal with people at school saying shit about me whether it's true or not."

"I know that feeling."

"Yeah." Guy breathes in, loosens his grip on Kyle's hand. "So, that's it. I'm fucked up, and you seem like a cool guy, and I'm gay and kinda-out now, and I want to date you. I want you to be my boyfriend."

Kyle flushes as Guy finishes. "You have to tell your mom and Mace," he says. "We don't have to be all…boyfriend-ish…at school, but I don't want to have to pretend if I'm hanging out with you at your place, okay?"

Guy waits for the fear of telling his mom and Mace to overtake him. It doesn't come. "Okay," he says. "I will. Tonight."

"It can wait—"

"Tonight," Guy repeats. "I'm trying…" He doesn't know how to explain, how he feels like he owes his mother as much honesty as he can find to give her, a way of thanking her for trying so damned hard to watch out for him over the years. "I wanna be honest with my mom," he says.

"If she freaks at it, have her call my mom. She's got all sorts of pamphlets and books and stuff."

"She already knows I’m gay."

"Yeah, but now you're gonna be really gay, you know? You'll have a boyfriend." Kyle shrugs at Guy's look. "I know it sounds lame, but my mom freaked out a little, and she was totally cool when I came out."

And not putting her life back together after a shitty marriage, Guy thinks. "I'll tell her," he promises. He lets go of Kyle's hand completely. "Meet you here tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Kyle glances up and down the street, leans forward and kisses Guy on the mouth. "See you later."

"Bye," Guy says, and he watches Kyle climb the stoop and go inside his building. He walks home almost entirely lost in his thoughts. When he opens the door to the apartment, his mother is already there, sitting on the couch and reading a book.

"Hi, sweetie. How'd it go?"

"I'm dating Kyle," Guy says, wanting it out before anything else. "And I got into a fight with Tommy because he's an asshole, and I'm really tired."

His mother blinks and marks her place in her book. "I thought you and Kyle were just friends."

"We were," Guy replies. "And now we're dating." Saying it again, while she watches him with an unreadable expression, he feels fear start to spark in him. "He said you could talk to his mom if you need to," he adds. "I mean, if you…" He doesn't want to ask her if she's freaking out. Doesn't want to ask if this suddenly changes everything all over again. "I like him," he says quietly.

His mother smiles and stands up, walks over and pulls him into a hug. "He's a very nice young man," she says. "I think it's a bit fast, but you've always been very determined to go forward when you make up your mind about something."

"I'll tell Mace at dinner," Guy says, and he presses his face to his mother's shoulder, tears welling in his eyes.

"Mace likes Kyle, too," his mother says. She pets the back of Guy's head softly. "Honey?"

Guy can't answer, he's crying, eyes screwed shut to pretend that he isn't. He tries to breathe in, and his whole body just shakes instead. He hugs his mom tighter, feels her hug him back just as hard. "Life sucked," he gets out, and it's stuttery and broken, but he feels his mother shift to kiss the side of his head.

"I know, baby," and he can't remember the last time she called him that. His father had forbade it when he was in elementary school. Said it made him a pussy. "It's gonna be better now."

It is, Guy thinks. It already is, but he's crying too hard to saying anything else, letting his mother hug him like she hasn't done since he was in junior high.

"I'm glad about Kyle," his mother says, and her voice is wavering. "And I'm glad you're here, and that you and Mace are getting along, and I'm glad you can still hug me."

How could I stop, Guy thinks. "You're my mom," he gets out. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she says, and he feels tears in his hair.

Maybe he's not so fucked up, Guy thinks. When Mace comes home, sees their stained faces and suddenly crumples onto the couch, Guy decides he's not fucked up at all.

"I wish—" Mace starts, and Guy shoves at his shoulder.

"Shut up," he says, and he leans against Mace's side. We did what we could, he thinks. "You look stupid when you cry."

Mace doesn't respond, just throws an arm around his shoulder, reels Guy in close. "Least I can breathe through my mouth."

"I'm dating Kyle," Guy tells him. "And I punched out Tommy for being a dick."

"Good," Mace says. "For both of them."

Their mother shakes her head at them and stands up. "Let's all wash our faces and have dinner," she says. "Let's order out. We're celebrating."

"What are we celebrating?" Mace asks, wiping his face with a swipe of his sleeve.

"Everything," she replies. "Being a family."

Not being broken, Guy thinks. "The fact that I have a boyfriend and you're still single and sad," he says to Mace.

"Big achievement," Mace replies, standing up and pulling Guy along with him. "Kyle's just as lame as you."

"You'll be good together," his mother says.

"Yeah," Guy agrees. "Probably."


End file.
